


Teenage Wasteland

by iamjacksblindrage



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Sherlock Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamjacksblindrage/pseuds/iamjacksblindrage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A teenage Sherlock Holmes is shipped off to the States by his mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock wasn't pleased. No, he wasn't pleased one bit.

They were sending him to America, of all places, those rubbish beings who called themselves his parents. For crashing a crime scene. And he solved the bloody crime, they should be rewarding him!

But no, they shipped him off to America, and not even anywhere interesting, like New York, or LA. Hell, he'd even take Detroit or St. Louis right now. No, he was stuck in some little town in the bland state of Illinois. He might just die from sheer boredom.

They had been off the interstate for half an hour before they reached the town of Sherlock's banishment.

Oregon, the sign read. Population 3,696.

Dull.

Sherlock huffed out a sigh, sinking lower into his seat.

They hadn't even bothered sending him somewhere with a private school, oh no. He was going to a public high school for the rest of this year and all of next year.

Sherlock dropped his head against the window with an alarmingly loud thud. The driver, almost concerned, glanced back at him in the rear view mirror.

"Were almost to your uncle's, Master Holmes."

Sherlock sighed. Uncle Warren had been the black sheep among the Holmes family. Incredibly intelligent, but mischievous as a child and a rebel as an adolescent. He had been 16 when he announced that he was gay and that he wanted to be an English teacher. When he was 18, he had moved to the States to go to University and never came home. Sherlock had met the man once, when he and his partner, the much more Holmsian Nicholas, had come to London for a family reunion of sorts. Sherlock had been 10, and very much adored Warren for his rebellious nature and Nicholas for his observatory skills and intellect.

The driver pulled up in front of an ordinary, indistinct house. Two story, with a small attic and a basement. Much larger than anything in London, but much smaller than the Holmes Manor. Standing on the covered porch is Uncle Warren, every one of his 45 years showing, dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt.

Sherlock unfolds himself from the back seat of the black car, and smooths down his shirt before buttoning his suit jacket. The driver starts pulling Sherlock's many suitcases from the boot and sets them on the curb.

"Uncle," Sherlock greets the man, taking the front steps two at a time, then offering the older man a hand to shake. Warren takes it, returning a firm handshake.

"Sherlock. My, you've grown. You're looking just like your mother. Hows Mycroft?"

"Wouldn't know. He's working on taking over Father's position."

Warren gives one knowing nod. The driver has almost finished carrying Sherlock's cases into the house, and when he brings in the last one, Warren ushers Sherlock inside.

The front door opens into a fairly spacious, well-worn sitting room. A set of stairs lead on upstairs, but Warren leads Sherlock on through the sitting room and into the kitchen. There's a small dining table in one corner, where Nicholas is sat. He looks up from the paperwork scattered across the table, and pulls himself up from his chair when he sees Sherlock.

He offers a hand to Sherlock, which he accepts.

"Nice to see you again, Sherlock. Make yourself at home."

"Thank you, sir."

Warren watches the two interact, and notices many parallels between the two. Physically, the two could be mistaken as father and son. Both were tall, thin and pale with high, sharp cheekbones and unruly, dark hair. Both dressed to the 9's, almost cold in their calculating, observing mannerisms.

When the pair finish with their short, odd reunion, Nicholas returns to his work and Warren starts to show Sherlock around the house. Warrens office and a bathroom round out the rooms downstairs. Upstairs, Warren points out his and Nicholas' room, another bathroom, Nicholas' office, and a spare bedroom. Finally, Warren leads Sherlock up the stairs at the end of the hall, and opening the door to the attic. To Sherlock's utmost surprise, its finished and rather more warm and cozy than expected. There's a large bed pushed to one wall, an oak desk against another. A wardrobe more that big enough for Sherlock's clothing near the end of the bed. Its dark, but there are plenty of windows and lamps.

"This is going to be your room. Nicholas and I figured you'd want a bit more privacy than the spare room downstairs. Only downside is you have to go down there for the bathroom, but its all yours, because Nick and I share the en suite in our room."

"This is perfect, Uncle. Thank you."

Warren smiles at his nephew, before offering to help him carry his cases up. Once the job is done, though, he leaves Sherlock to his own devices and returns to the ground floor to relax in his armchair.

Sherlock sets to unpack, organizing everything to his liking, before collapsing on the rather comfy bed. He sighs loudly, closing his eyes. As much as he liked Nicholas and Warren, the next year and a half would be hell. Away from the bustle of city life. Away from England. Hell, even away from Mycroft. It would drive him mad.

Around 6, Warren called Sherlock downstairs for dinner. Sherlock pushed his food around his plate, only taking a few bites of his chicken. When hes excused from the table, he goes into the sitting room, grabs a book from the case and settles onto the couch. Nicholas retreats upstairs to continue work. Warren makes himself a cup of tea, sipping on it in the kitchen. When he finishes it, he strides into the sitting room purposefully. Sherlock is sprawled across the couch, immersed in the book.

It takes almost 20 minutes to get Sherlock's attention. When he does, its to talk about school. Hes already been enrolled in the local high school, where Warren works. Warren tells Sherlock about the school, answering all his questions. When their finished, Sherlock pulls himself up from the couch and heads back upstairs. His book lay abandoned on the sofa.


	2. Chapter 2

On Monday morning, Sherlock rides with Warren to school. It’s an old, plain, brick two story building. Once inside, Warren points Sherlock in the direction of the front office and then heads upstairs to his classroom.

Sherlock has no problems finding the office. There, they give him his schedule, a locker, a lock, a map, a student planner and an ID. He gets the rundown of how the school day runs and some basic rules and then is sent on his way.

His first class of the day is Honors Physics. He heads upstairs to find the room, 212. By now, other students are milling about and Sherlock makes a point to ignore them. It takes a grand total of 5 minutes for him to find the room, its door shut.

10 minutes before the bell rings, a middle aged man opens the door. Sherlock strides in after him.

"You must be the Holmes boy. I’m Mr. Callahan. Third row, fifth seat is you."

Sherlock settles into his desk and Mr. Callahan drops a textbook down in front of him.

He observes the other students as they file into the room. Sherlock picks out 3 from the 20 other students that he believes are anywhere near his caliber. He also picks out one pot smoker barely getting through the class, and 2 homosexual males, in a relationship with each other, though neither of them have come out to their families or peers. One coincides with his 3 near-equals. He’s well dressed and is exchanging sly glances with the other boy from across the room.

The class is boring, and Sherlock corrects Mr. Callahan 3 times in the 45 minute class period.

His next class is French III, an easy A for Sherlock. Mummy made him and Mycroft both learn the language young. The instructor, a young French native, is impressed by his conversational French, and uses him for examples several times.

Third hour, Sherlock has Calculus I. The class is dreadfully boring and halfway through, Sherlock takes a short visit to his Mind Palace.

After that, he had Anatomy. The teacher, Mrs. Henry, sat him next to the most intriguing student he'd seen all day. He was short, dirty blond, and dressed in a cable knit jumper over a plaid button down. Sherlock could smell tea on him, an inexpensive British import. He smiled up at Sherlock as he sat down. His left hand trembled ever so slightly around his pen. A reaction to stress. His hair was cut to military perfection and he sat straight and rigid in his chair. His father was in the Army. Sherlock finds him intensely interesting.

Towards the end of class, they get about 10 minutes of free time. The boy turns to Sherlock and greets him.

"Hullo. I’m John Watson."

He offers a hand and Sherlock finds himself shaking it.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Well, welcome to OHS, Sherlock. You from London?"

"Yes, near Kensington. I’m living with my Uncle right now. Got in a bit of trouble back home. And you, you’re from the Camden area, yes?"

"Yeah, we lived there while Da was in the service. Moved out here to be closer to my Mums family when I was 14. Are you a senior?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Junior. I got put in a lot of senior classes though, because I took most of your junior level classes back at my boarding school. I was supposed to be graduating early so I could go to Uni over the summer, but that went to Hell."

"Hey, what lunch do you have?"

"First lunch, right after this."

"Would you like to sit with me? I don’t have many friends, especially not in that lunch. I mean, if you’d like to join me. Which you don’t if you don’t want to."  
Sherlock nodded. "I'll join you."

John smiled as the bell rang. The pair gathered their book, and headed out of the classroom. Standing next to John, Sherlock realized just how short the boy was, a full head shorter. They stopped at John’s locker, and he threw his books in his locker, before they continued downstairs to the cafeteria. They immediately jumped in line, John grabbing quite a few different items. Sherlock picked up a packet of crisps and a bottle of water. His stomach had resolutely rebelled against Nicholas's delicious breakfast that morning, so he decided not to push it. Sherlock followed John to an empty, out of the way table and sat across from him.

"So. You must be a pretty smart kid, huh?"

"Yes, you could say that."

"Do I get to hear what trouble got you shipped out here?"

Sherlock sighed, sipped at his water, but decided to tell the older boy.

"I sort of crashed a crime scene down in Piccadilly Circus. Murder case, police didn’t have a clue. I solved it and everything, but a 16 year old kid, blasted on coke generally isn’t one of the Met's favorite people to listen to."

"Wait, so you were high and you just walked into a crime scene full of cops? And then /solved/ the crime? You are the most idiotic genius I’ve ever met."

"Yes, well, I spent the night down at the station, coming down, and then spent 3 months in rehab. My brother and mother found my stash of cocaine and heroin the same night I got arrested."

"Shit, kid, you got into some hard drugs."

"The cocaine gives me an extra kick, speeds up my thought process, makes everything clearer. The heroin dulls my brain to a low buzz and lets me sleep. I needed them."

Sherlock crunched on a crisp carefully, gauging his body's response.

"You said your name was Holmes, yeah? That uncle of yours wouldn’t happen to be Mr. Holmes-Bouchard, the English teacher, would he?"

Sherlock nodded, placing another chip in his mouth, chewing slowly.

"I love him! He’s my AP English Lit teacher this year, he’s fantastic."

"He was disowned when he was a teenager. He came out to my grandparents, right before refusing to follow in Grandfathers footsteps and go into government. Then he ran away from home, ending up in Quebec, where he met his husband, and then the two came down here for Uni and stayed. I met him once, about 7 years ago."

"Is it frowned upon that you aren’t going into government, that you’re sort of following your uncles footsteps?"

"I’m not the eldest. My brother Mycroft always stepped up and so it was never expected of me."

John finished off the last of his lunch, and they went to take his lunch tray up. Sherlock ate a few more chips before tossing the packet and the water bottle. When the bell rang, the pair walked upstairs together, before going their separate ways for class.

Fifth hour, Sherlock had Honors English, with Warren. Warren clapped him lightly on the shoulder and pointed him to an empty seat, giving him their current novel, The Great Gatsby. Sherlock sat at the back of the class, zoned out while Warren went over comma rules. He couldn’t get his mind off John. There was something about him that he couldn’t quite place.

Next, Sherlock had AP Biology. Scanning the room as he walked in, he spotted John in the back corner. The boy looked up at him, smiled and waved him over. The class was rather interesting in its content, and he had a friend to sit by.

7th hour, Sherlock had a computer programming class. It was small, only 6 students, including himself, so it was easy to ask questions or converse with the others.

Last hour, Sherlock had Gym. He had been dreading this class all day. He got lucky, though, because he did not have a change of clothes, so the teacher did not make him participate. He did, however, get a locker in the locker room.

At the end of the day, Sherlock gathered his things for the shockingly sparse amount of homework he had and headed down the hall to Warrens room. There were a handful of students, some making up quizzes or tests, and some getting extra help. So Sherlock sat down in Warrens chair, pulled out the worn paperback, and kicked his feet up on Warren’s main desk. It had been a while since Sherlock had read Gatsby, so he started reading through it. By the time Warren was packed up and ready to leave for the night, Sherlock was close to half done with the book.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock fell into a routine over the next 6 weeks. Get out of bed, shower, attempt at some food, go to school, go through the motions of the classes, hang out with John in the library or computer lab and knock out some homework, go home, finish any homework, attempt to eat some of Nicholas's dinner, and read or conduct experiments while texting John until John fell asleep, then he’d sleep for a few hours and get up and start again.

John was the only student Sherlock could tolerate. Their friendship bloomed rapidly, while Sherlock could barely open his mouth without a rude comment about anyone else. Especially Jim, one of Sherlock’s prized 3 in Honors Physics, the gay one. He was arrogant and flamboyant and bordering on psychopathic. Always trying to show Sherlock up in class.

But Johns different. John understands the English colloquialisms that Sherlock uses, and translates them into an American equivalent for teachers and students alike. Johns tolerant of Sherlock’s fits, his stubborn nature, the lack of a filter between his brain and mouth. John relates to him. Sherlock likes John.

He realizes it’s sentimental, but he does enjoy John’s presence. He stands closer to the older boy than is socially acceptable and people talk. John doesn’t mind. He'll give Sherlock a playful shove but follow it up with a one armed hug or a lingering touch on his shoulder.

Around week 4, John starts coming around Warren’s house on the weekends, or driving Sherlock home during the week. Every Friday, John stays for dinner. Over Christmas Break, Sherlock finds out that 

Wednesday night is pizza night at the Watsons, and starts joining them on a regular basis.

Over break, one cold night in Sherlock’s attic room, John brings up the subject of University.

"Do you know if you’re going back to London for Uni?"

Sherlock shakes his head from his spot in the window seat. Johns sprawled across his bed.

"Mummy says I can stay if I want, but her and Mycroft both really want me to go to Oxford."

"You should do what you want. Sod what your mother wants."

Sherlock reaches for his laptop on the desk next to him.

"Where are you going next year?"

"I’m just starting Gen Eds next year at Sauk Valley. But I’m gonna transfer to the University of Chicago after a year or two."

John could see Sherlock looking up the University website, most likely pouring over every ounce of information he could find. John glances up at the clock on the wall and sees its going on 10.

"Hey, Sherlock, can I crash here tonight?" He groans, reaching for his mobile.

"Sure. I probably won’t sleep much tonight anyways."

John texts his mother, letting her know where he'll be for the night. He kicks his jeans off, abandoning them on the floor next to the bed. Then he grabs his backpack, pulling out his laptop. He idly browses the internet, peering over the screen to discreetly watch Sherlock. His long legs are impossibly folded into the small window seat and the glow from the computer screen throws all the angles of his face into soft relief. Almost all of his curls have been coaxed into a ponytail, except for his bangs, which frame his face quite nicely. His t-shirt is inside out and his flannel pajama bottoms are falling low on his narrow hips, the bottoms of the legs bunching up around his calves.

Sherlock glances up, catching Johns gaze. John blushes and hides behind his laptop. Sherlock can’t help but to smile fondly at the other boy. He’s not quite certain of his feelings, but they sure fall beyond the societal boundaries of friendship. He turns his attention back to his computer, reading an obnoxiously diplomatic email from his brother. And there, he can feel Johns gaze on him again. He smiles, a real, crooked, wide grin, not looking up from his laptop. He can almost hear John’s heart racing from his seat. He’s gathering confidence to tell Sherlock how he feels. Sherlock pulls up his IM window, typing a quick message to John.

'If it’s easier for you to type it, by all means, do.'

The 'ding' sounds quietly across the room. Sherlock looks up at John through his bangs, watching the boy squirm as he types. His own computer chimes softly.

'I’m absolutely mad for you. Quit being so gorgeous over there.'

Sherlock’s smile widens, and he sets his laptop aside, rising from the window seat. His strides are long in his rush to John’s side. John peers up at the manically smiling Sherlock looming over him.

"Sherlock. You all right?"

Sherlock pries the laptop from Johns grip, closing and tossing it to the end of the bed in one fluid motion. Then he slid down into Johns lap, wrapping his arms around the elder boy in a tight hug. John’s arms immediately go around Sherlock’s slim waist in a tight grip. Sherlock pulls back, just enough to press his nose to Johns gently.

"I’m quite smitten with you, as well, John Watson."

John smiles wide, tilting his chin up to press his lips to Sherlock’s ever so softly. Sherlock smiles into the kiss, an infectious smile that spreads to John. Their teeth click together awkwardly and the pair chuckle into each other’s mouths. Sherlock places a kiss at the corner of John’s wide grin, gentle and hesitant. John threads his fingers through Sherlock’s curls.

"John?"

"Hm."

"I would just like you to know that my knowledge in this area is limited strictly to theory and the Internet."

"Oh, darling." John kissed the younger boys forehead. "That’s quite alright."

Sherlock twists, pulling John down on the bed, cuddling close. John wraps his arms around the thin boy, almost protectively, Sherlock notes. He buries his nose in the crook of John’s neck, breathing in the warm, rich scent of him. Johns face is in his hair, no doubt taking in the smell of his shampoo and his cigarettes and a variety of chemicals. Sherlock lays and listen to John’s steady, deep breath and then, the slightly shallower, sleepy breathing when consciousness escapes him. Sherlock stays put in John’s arms the entire night, even catching almost 4 hours of sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

John wakes up to a warm, soft kiss the next morning. Sherlock’s skin is scalding hot against his. John hums sleepily. Sherlock speaks his name against the sensitive skin behind his ear and he squirms slightly, pressing his nose to Sherlock’s hair. He smells warm, like vanilla and cinnamon, like tobacco smoke. He’s also got an underlying, clean smell, almost chemical.

"John. C’mon. Nicholas has the day off, remember?" Johns about to reply that he doesn’t remember, but Sherlock keeps talking. "You and I are taking a day trip, remember?" John does remember, vaguely. They were going to go into Chicago for the day, hang out, and do some Christmas shopping. "We need to be out of here by 10, and its already closing in on 9."

John groans and rolls away from Sherlock, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Do you want to shower first or shall I?"

"Or we could save time and water and shower together."

"Sherlock."

"What?"

"That’s not exactly appropriate. Just go shower."

Sherlock grumbles as he pulls himself out of bed and down the stairs. John sighs, and rolls out of bed, knowing Sherlock won’t be long. He grabs his jeans from where Sherlock had kicked them under the bed, and one of Sherlock’s older button ups, and a pair of boxers from his emergency stash in the back of one of Sherlock’s drawers.

It’s not been but 10 minutes when Sherlock clumps up the stairs into the room, hair still dripping, dressed only in a towel slung low on his hips. He bends down to give John a soft, short kiss as John gathers his clothes and heads out of the room.

When John finishes his shower and dresses, he doesn’t even bother heading back upstairs, knowing Sherlock won’t be there anymore. He jogs down the stairs and into the kitchen, to find Sherlock and Nicholas at the table conversing quietly in French over coffee. John pours himself a mug and listens.

"Je pense vraiment que je pourrais être dans l'amour avec lui."

"Aller avec votre instinct sur ce point, Sherlock. Il ne conduira pas que vous avez tort, je le promets. J'ai vu la façon dont il vous regarde."

"Je suis terrifié. Et vous savez que je n'ai jamais eu peur avant. Ne t'aime toujours l'impression que cela?"

"Oui, jeune homme. Ça fait peur et ça fait mal, mais le résultant final est très gratifiant. Rester avec elle. Il sera bon pour vous, j'en suis sûr."

"Merci, Oncle."

John takes his place at Sherlock’s side, slightly closer than normal. Nicholas smiles warmly at him, and then pushes away from the table.

"I’m going to go upstairs to drag Warren out of bed so he can get his work done, otherwise he'll never do it. You boys have a nice day."

"Thank you, Nicholas," the pair chorus at him. Nicholas retreats up the stairs almost silently. Sherlock grabs Johns hand under the table, sipping his coffee. John drinks his, as well, quickly.

It’s exactly 10 when the couple climbs into Nicholas's Honda. Sherlock climbs in behind the wheel and pulls out of the driveway. He expertly finds his way back to the interstate. It takes almost 2 hours for them to reach their destination, a parking garage near Millennium Park. They catch lunch at a small, out of the way cafe. They keep mostly to side streets and little eclectic shops, away from the packed main roads. They stop on street corners for Sherlock to smoke and in back alleys for quick snogs. Sherlock holds Johns hand as they walk down the street.

 

Around 6, they grab dinner and by 8, they’re back on the road, the back seat full of shopping bags. Its almost 10 when they pull into the driveway. Between the two of them, they get all of the bags in one trip. Sherlock unlocks and opens the front door. Nicholas and Warren are on the couch. Warren is at one end, the foot rest kicked out, reclined back. Nicholas is sprawled across the length of the couch, his head resting in Warrens lap. Nicholas is fast asleep and the TV is muted. Warren nods at the boys as they quietly make their way up the stairs.

In Sherlock’s attic room, the pair sorts their bags into two piles; Sherlock and John. John grabs all of his possessions strewn around the room and stuffs them into his backpack. He digs his car keys from the front pocket of the bag, then throws it over his shoulder, picking up the rest of his bags. Sherlock accompanies him down the stairs and to the piece of shit Pontiac that John drives, parked on the street. John tosses all the bags into the back seat of his car before shutting the door and leaning back against it. Sherlock steps up to him, placing his hands on the cool glass on either side of John’s waist. John’s hands find a place on Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock, slowly, gently rests his forehead against Johns and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes.

"John."

"I know."

John tilts his head back, just enough to brush his nose against Sherlock’s. He can see Sherlock chewing on the inside of his lip, the gears in his head working in overdrive.

"You don’t have to say anything right now, Sherlock. Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait until you’re more sure of how to say it."

There’s a pause, a long pause.

John doesn’t think he’s going to say anything.

And then.

"I love you, John Watson."

It’s no more than a whisper. John feels it and tastes it more than he hears it. He tilts his chin up just a bit, so his lips are resting right against Sherlock’s before he replies.

"I love you too, Sherlock Holmes."

That’s all it takes. That’s all it takes and then Sherlock is holding John so tight, he thinks he might break. He’s absolutely devouring John, his kisses are rushed and hungry and needy, and John can’t get a breath or word in edgewise. He’s gasping for breath by time Sherlock pulls away. He takes a half step back from John.

"I'll call you when I get home, and I’ll see you in the morning, over at NASH, okay?"

Sherlock nods and John places a final, soft kiss on his lips, before jogging around the car and climbing in. Sherlock stands there on the curb until John pulls around the corner and out of sight.

He jogged up the front steps and locked the front door behind him before climbing both sets of stairs to his room. He toes off his shoes next to his door and is in the process of storing all of the shopping bags when his phone rings; John.

"Hello, sweetheart."


	5. Chapter 5

John spends Christmas Eve at the Holmes-Bouchard house. Nicholas makes Christmas dinner, a huge spread that John doesn’t know what to do with. Sherlock, as usual, doesn’t eat, but elects to pick at Johns plate instead. After, Warren makes tea and digs out a package of shortbread biscuits for pudding.

The quartet gathers around the small Christmas tree, exchanging presents and basking in the warmth of a fire.

Warren gives Nicholas custom engraved cufflinks. Nicholas gives Warren a first edition of The Catcher in the Rye and Warren cries.

John gets Sherlock a lovely, blue cashmere scarf. Sherlock gets John a ring, a simple white gold band, a promise, and John cries.

Warren and Nicholas give the boys matching black leather bound journals and give them the best advice they have; write a page worth about the other every day, and exchange the journals next Christmas.

John and Sherlock give the men their reservations for a penthouse suite at a luxury hotel in downtown Chicago for New Years Eve. It’ll be the first New Year the couple will get to spend together in 25 years.

After the exchange of gifts, John and Sherlock drive over to the Watson house. It’s late and the house is mostly dark, so the pair creeps downstairs to John’s basement bedroom quietly. They both strip down to their pants and crawl into John’s bed together and are out not long after.

John wakes up to Sherlock practically smothering him. With a bit of leverage, John rolls the younger boy off him, and glances up at his alarm clock; it’s nearly 10. Which means-

"Johnnyyyy!"

The door to his bedroom crashes in, startling Sherlock, and Harriet Watson tumbles into the room.

"John! What are two still doing in bed?! It’s Christmas!"

John tosses his spare pillow in Harry's direction and is fairly satisfied by the low 'thump' it makes when it hits her.

"Johnny!"

"Yeah, we heard ya, Harry; we'll be up in 10, Jesus fucking Christ." Sherlock buries his face into Johns shoulder, leaving soft kisses there. John threads his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, watching his sisters retreating back.

After a moment, John twists and rolls away from Sherlock, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Sherlock stretches behind him, and John has got flannel pajama bottoms on and is digging for a shirt by the time Sherlock is in a semi-upright position. John grabs extra pajamas for Sherlock, before returning to bed to help Sherlock wake up.

When Sherlock actually slept, he was a slow waker. Some mornings it could take nearly half an hour to get Sherlock sitting up in bed, and even then, he was usually still pretty groggy. John had found, though, that getting him upright and rubbing his back helped to speed up the process. John usually spoke at Sherlock during this time, and some level of Sherlock’s conscience listened, though Sherlock was not functioning enough by this point to respond. He told Sherlock the little things, things Sherlock’s waking mind would surely toss out. Today he tells him his favorite color is blue, because it’s the color of the sky and the oceans and Sherlock’s eyes are a wonderful icy blue sometimes, especially in the morning, and it was a sight John loved waking up to.

Finally, Sherlock’s eyes clear into that icy blue and he pulls himself out of the tangled sheets and puts on the clothes John set out for him and follows John up the stairs, into the living room. Both of John’s parents and Harry are lounging around the room, drinking tea and waiting for the boys. Sherlock loves how wonderfully British the Watson family is. They’re a little island of home in a vast sea of Americans.

The four Watson and Sherlock finally gather around the tree, making quick work of exchanging gifts. After, Mrs. Watson makes breakfast which Sherlock picks at, but doesn’t properly eat. Harry and John taunt and tease each other from across the table, like children. John holds Sherlock’s hand under the table.

After clearing up their dishes, the pair head back to John’s room. His mother shouts a reminder after him about their plans for the rest of the day. They are going to his grandmothers that afternoon, so at some point he needs to make himself presentable. But he postpones it for the time being, choosing instead to push Sherlock back onto his bed and climb on top of him. Sherlock smirks up at him, raising one eyebrow. John responds by sinking his teeth into the marble white expanse of skin, just below Sherlock’s jaw. Sherlock gasps, then lets loose the tiniest of whimpers, threading his hands through Johns sandy blond hair. John gently removes Sherlock’s hands, and he’s caught by the sight of the ring, glinting on his boyfriend’s finger, and he groans, just the tiniest bit. John smiles, then slides down to kneel on the floor between Sherlock’s feet, pressing kisses to his sharp hip bones. Sherlock bucks his hips, looking for friction. John presses open mouthed kisses to Sherlock’s pajama-clad erection, his breath warm and unbearable. Sherlock throws his head back into the mattress, jaw clenched shut, fighting back moans.

Finally, slowly, so slowly, John tugs down Sherlock’s pajamas and pants, freeing his prick from its cotton confines. Sherlock whimpers, but is suddenly cut off when he’s engulfed in the wet heat of John’s mouth. His mind goes blank; all he can process is that thing Johns tongue is doing that can’t be possible. His hips buck up and he faintly hears John gag around his cock and he whines. It’s all he can do to not come right there.

John pins his hips down, working him with his tongue. Sherlock is whimpering softly, his entire body trembling from the pleasure. He knows he won’t last long. His toes curl and he’s clenching the duvet and all he can do is give John a strangled grunt of warning, before he’s releasing in the other boys mouth.

John catches most of it, but Sherlock looks down at him and sees the thin line of semen that’s dripped down his chin and he whimpers. John smiles, his big, wide, innocent John smile and Sherlock lunges forward, first capturing Johns lips in a short harsh kiss, then licking up the leftover cum off his chin, taking in his own taste. John looks up at him in shock for a moment, then glances over at his clock.

"Shit! I need to get ready. I’m sorry you can’t join us."

John’s mother’s family is an incredibly religious lot, so his parents have not allowed Sherlock to accompany them to family Christmas, to avoid conflict.

"It's quite alright. I’m supposed to Skype with Mycroft and Mummy at noon anyways. You go shower, I can see myself out."

John kisses Sherlock one last time and runs off to the bathroom. Sherlock finds his clothes from the night before and changes, grabs his coat, then heads up the stairs, bidding farewell to the Watsons and walks out the door and up the street in the direction of Warrens house.

That afternoon proves to be incredibly boring. His call with Mycroft and Mummy is mild. He fills a page in his journal about John. He performs three experiments with only one chemical burn. Its nearly 7 when John calls and Sherlock flops down on his bed to talk. They somehow talk for over an hour and Sherlock smokes three cigarettes in that time. It’s almost midnight when Sherlock falls into fitful sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

New Years comes and goes rather uneventfully. Nicholas and Warren go into Chicago, so John spends the evening with Sherlock. They drink an entire bottle of cheap champagne, the one Nicholas had slipped into the back of the fridge that morning, then stumble upstairs to Sherlock’s room.

Soon enough, it’s time for them to go back to school. Though, the night before, John sits Sherlock down to talk.

"Sherlock, you need to know that kids here are ruthless. If you walk in those doors, holding my hand, it will be no better than writing up your own suicide note. It might be teasing and taunting, but it could also be beatings in the locker room. And I’m giving you a chance to avoid that."

After a long pause, Sherlock answers.

"No. I don’t care. We can hide if you want, but I don’t. I want the world to know that I, Sherlock Holmes, have feelings, and I love you."

John smiles up at him warmly and nearly knocks him over with the force of his kiss.

So the next morning, John pulls into the driveway at quarter after 7 and honks. Nicholas has been gone since the night before, called away on a case and Warren left half an hour ago to finish up some prep work.

Sherlock comes out onto the porch, backpack slung over one shoulder, dressed in his usual dark, tailored jeans and a sleek, expensive looking white button down. He locks the front door quickly, then jogs down the stairs and across the grass to the car. He throws his backpack into the back seat next to Johns before folding his long legs into the small front seat. John leans over the gear shift to greet him with a kiss.

"Morning, love."

"Morning."

John backs out of the driveway, turning in the direction of the school.

"Tea?"

He offers Sherlock the black travel mug from the cup holder and Sherlock gladly takes it, sipping slowly on the hot beverage. John picks up the other tumbler, the bright blue one, and carefully sips at his tea as he drives.

The ride is short and comfortably quiet. John pulls into the student lot, fairly close to the building. Sherlock leaves his almost empty tea mug in the car when he climbs out. Johns is half empty, so he brings his with him. They each grab their backpacks from opposite sides of the car, throwing them over their shoulders. When they straighten, they stare at each other over the car for a moment. Sherlock moves first, sweeping around the vehicle, grabbing Johns hand and pulling him into the building, fearless.

The halls are fairly quiet at this time of morning, especially since most students elect to gather in the cafeteria before class. They get disapproving looks from the few students they pass. John hides behind his tea.

They stop off at Sherlock’s locker first. He tosses his backpack inside, grabbing his physics book and his binder, then slams it shut. The books get tucked under his arm, and he grabs Johns hand again, heading down to his locker.

John’s day is fairly uneventful. Everyone leaves him pretty well alone, and all he can do is hope the same can be said for Sherlock. He checks his phone as he’s leaving his last hour AP Chemistry class, reading a text from Sherlock.

'Meet me in Warren’s room. Brace yourself. -SH'

John stops dead, for just a moment. Then he turns, sprinting down the hallway towards the English department, shoving his way through the crowd. Pure panic floods him, thinking off all the worst things that could have happened. When he reaches room 221, the door is closed. He raps gently and soon after, Warrens face appears in the window, pale and concerned. He opens the door quickly for John, closing it just as fast behind him.

Sitting behind Warren’s desk is Sherlock. He’s slouched down in the chair, feet kicked up on the desk, a fairly normal sight. The normality of the scene, however, is ruined by the blood caked on Sherlock’s face and knuckles and staining his white shirt. John rushes to Sherlock’s side, tilting and turning the boys face gingerly to mentally catalogue his injuries. His gaze is empty, and he looks right through John. John looks up at Warren.

"What happened?"

Warren closes his eyes, turning away from John. His face scrunches and contorts into something Johns never seen on it. Pain and guilt.

"I’m not sure. He got beat up pretty well, but that much is obvious. He hasn’t said a word since he stepped into my room just after the bell."

John turns back to Sherlock, crouching beside him, and holds his hands oh so gently.

"Sherlock. Hey, love, c'mon. Answer me, Sherlock. You've gotta come back to me, dear. Please, Sherlock." His voice is low and soft, the same voice he talks to him in in the mornings. Sherlock blinks slowly, turning to look at John. And then his face crumples and tears stream silently down his face, leaving pink tracks in their wake.

"John..." His deep baritone voice trembles and Johns heart breaks.

"Sherlock, honey, does it hurt? Does anything hurt?"

Sherlock nods, gently.

Where, love? Your head?"

"And my ribs. And my hand."

John looks up at Warren, who's taken a place hovering over Johns shoulder.

"We need to get him down to the hospital."

Warren nods and sets to finding his keys. John helps Sherlock up and towards the door. Warren follows, locking his classroom behind him. The worst part of the journey to the teachers’ lot is the stairs.

John loads Sherlock into the back seat, and then climbs in with him. Sherlock lays his head on Johns lap and they’re barely out of the parking lot and John can feel blood soaking into his shirt and jeans.

"What happened, dear?"

"Chris and David and Seth. Cornered me in the locker room. Started pushing me around. Fought back. David knocked me out. Kicked me when I was down. Woke up alone, covered in blood. Went to Warren’s room." Sherlock’s voice wavered and his eyes slid in and out of focus for a moment.

Warren managed the almost 25 minute drive in just under 20, and he rushed into the building before John and Sherlock to get him checked in. He was arguing with the nurse when John got Sherlock into the waiting room. The nurse took one look at Sherlock and ordered him into a wheelchair and rushed him away. Warren followed close behind and John struggled to keep up.

It’s a long process of cleaning up Sherlock enough to determine what injuries are bleeding the most profusely. Three of the lacerations on his face need stitches, as well his split lip and split knuckles. It’s apparent from the beginning that the boy has a fairly bad concussion. Then they go through the process of x-raying his ribs and his right hand to determine if anything’s broken. It turns up a broken rib and a bad sprain in his hand. 

 

They keep him overnight. Warren calls Nicholas and then Mrs. Watson. John sits at Sherlock’s bedside, keeping him awake.

It’s a long night. Warren calls Dr. Evans, the principal at the high school, shortly after Sherlock’s checked into the hospital, when John tells him who’s responsible for Sherlock’s injuries. Warren and John take turns staying up with Sherlock for stretches of time throughout the night. Sherlock gets restless, bored. He begs for his violin. He begs for his laptop, or at least his phone. In the end, he turns on some weird, middle of the night infomercial and criticizes it. Warren gets slightly fed up with him, though he watches how patient John is with him. Sherlock continues to be stubborn throughout the night.

In the morning, Warren drives John home to shower and change out of the hospital scrubs he was given to replace his bloodied clothing. Then the pair stops off at Warren’s house to pick up a change of clothes for Sherlock. They drive through McDonalds for breakfast and drive back down to the hospital.

Sherlock is sitting up on his bed, fiddling with the tape holding the IV into his hand. His face is slack, but his eyes are stretched wide. John sees how wide his pupils are and he knows.

"You’re pretty strung out, aren’t ya, love?" John asks, sitting down on the foot of the bed. Sherlock’s head jerks up to look at John, and he can’t help but giggle at the younger boy.

"They gave me morphine." Sherlock’s words are slow and slightly slurred. John reaches out to pull Sherlock’s hands apart, to prevent him from ripping the IV out.

"They needed to keep you up last night to make sure you had no intracranial bleeding. Otherwise you would have gotten it last night."

Warren enters the room behind a nurse, looking relieved. Sherlock babbles about bees to the nurse while she takes his vitals. Warren stands next to John, smiling softly.

"They say he should be able to go home in the morning. And Dr. Evans called; the boys have been suspended indefinitely while the school board confers on what to do with them. So as soon as he's mostly healed up, Sherlock can go back to school."

John smiles, mostly to himself, and turns to watch Sherlock. He’s telling the nurse about how he got his injuries now, and John can see how uncomfortable the nurse is with Sherlock’s gruesome details.

"Hey, Lock, tell her about Christmas, what do you remember from Christmas?"

Sherlock looks at him confused for a second before talking up a storm about the ring he bought John. This turns into him talking about how much he loves John. Which ends in the nurse leaving during a giggling fit on Sherlock’s part.

When Sherlock passes loopy and starts making his way into groggy, John lays down on the narrow hospital bed and pulls the tall, gangly boy into his arms. His speech is slower and he’s making less sense than before. John just holds him until he falls into a drug induced sleep. And long after he’s fallen asleep, John patiently lies with Sherlock half on top of him, stroking his curls softly.

About midday, Warren brings up a tray overflowing with food. John spots his favorite among the bunch, beef and bean burritos, curry, and chips. John disentangles himself from Sherlock long enough to eat, before curling back up with his boyfriend.

Sherlock regains consciousness around dinnertime. John manages to get some chicken noodle soup into him, as well as a cup of shitty vending machine tea. Sherlock is still groggy and disoriented, but stays awake until nearly 10, holding a semi-intelligent conversation with Warren about good old English literature. When he falls asleep, John’s stomach twists at how pale he looks, with the dark purple and yellow-green bruises, with the dark red cuts held together by stitches. His lip is still swollen and his eye has turned black. He looks fragile, like a china doll that’s been cracked and chipped. The rage that courses through John is enough to make him lash out and he punches a wall. Warren escorts him down to the nurses’ station, and then down to radiology for an x-ray. He ends up with a soft cast on his right hand to heal his fractured fourth metacarpal.

Sherlock wakes up around nine the next morning. By the time he's cleared to leave and changed and checked out, it’s closing in on noon. His movements are slow and careful of his rib. By 12:30, Warren and John get his settled onto the couch at home. Its 3 before Sherlock is lucid enough to notice the cast on John’s hand.

John is curled up on the floor next to the couch when Sherlock asks after it. John answers honestly, and his heart breaks at the sad face Sherlock gives him.


	7. Chapter 7

John returns to school the next day. Again, he’s pretty well left alone. A few people ask him about his hand and a few ask about Sherlock. He has a substitute for English. Mostly, the day is boring and he's loaded down with his absent work as well as Sherlock's.

Sherlock goes back to school 3 weeks after the incident, after the doctors deem him well enough to. Though, he is taken out of his PE class and put in the same study hall as John. He is pretty much left alone as well, aside for various rude comments.

Johns protective nature hits Sherlock full force, and suddenly, John is walking Sherlock to and from each and every class and texting him throughout the day to check in on him. Sherlock doesn’t mind, he actually quite likes Johns fussing and John quite likes fussing over him.

April rolls around faster than expected. Sherlock’s rib heals up nicely, as does John’s hand. All of a sudden, though, after spring break, posters for Prom start popping up around the school. Sherlock, curious and confused, asks John about it. John explains that it’s a formal dance for upperclassmen at the end of the year. He tells Sherlock all about American customs surrounding the dance, and Sherlock finds himself torn between intrigue and repulsion.

John's had the plan for months, since Sherlock came back to school. Nothing extravagant, just enough to get Sherlock’s attention. So mid-April, with Warrens help, he sneaks into the school early one morning to stick up bright purple letters, spelling out "PROM?" on Sherlock’s locker. 

Then he picks up Sherlock and drives the boy to school. Sherlock is rather shocked, but he accepts.

Sherlock grumbles at John about his tuxedo. The pair stands in front of the mirror in Sherlock’s bathroom, getting ready for the night. They’re wearing similar styles in similar colors. John’s bowtie is a bright cardinal red that matches his waistcoat. Sherlock’s elected to go much simpler, with a red tie and black waistcoat and a cardinal red pocket square. The pair spends nearly half an hour working on Sherlock’s hair. In the end, they comb it out and smooth it all back and away from his face.

"Why are we doing this again?"

John sighs, adjusting Sherlock’s tie.

"Because I’m not missing out on my Senior prom and I’m not going alone and it would kick up bad rumors if I went with Molly like you tried to suggest. It’ll be fun, calm down."

Sherlock makes a low, displeased noise, but allows John to finish his fussing before turning to really look at himself in the mirror. He still looks rough from the incident. His rib healed well and all his bruises faded, but the lacerations to his face left ugly scars. The one under his left eye is the worst, running from his nose to his hairline. It had required nearly 25 stitches and was the deepest of all the cuts. The scar tissue above his right eye left a bald line vertically through his eyebrow. His split lip healed a bit weird, leaving a small ridge down his lip. His hair looks more tamed and sophisticated. The coat makes his broad shoulders look narrower, making his whole frame look lithe. He towers over John, his height accentuated by the dark colors of the tux. Honestly, he looked like a young man straight out of one of Warrens Elizabethan movies. All long limbs and creamy pale skin and high cheekbones.

John smiles up at him.

"You look quite dapper, sir."

Sherlock grins, that genuine, crooked grin that John loves to see. Sherlock pulls John in close, then dips him.

"You don’t look bad yourself," he breathes against his boyfriends lips, the crooked grin turning into a seductive smile.

"Sherlock..."

Sherlock hums against John neck, placing open-mouthed kisses to his tan flesh.

"Sherlock, we don’t have time!" He pushes the boy away enough to kiss him before leading them down the stairs.

In the end, prom night is an enjoyable experience. They sat with a group of their friends during dinner and dancing themselves silly after. At the end of the night, the pair changes and head off to a party at Molly's.

They had shown up about 11:30, and a handful of people were there. Molly, of course, and Mike and Greg, and even Clara had come and dragged Harry with. Sally showed up, as well, with Anderson, though god knows why.

It was a fairly mild party by most standards. Molly had turned on the stereo to a local radio station and around midnight, they broke out the beer. It was cheap and by no means good, but they all drank a few cans, just to work up a buzz.

Irene turned up around 12:30, and then the real fun started. Someone rolled a joint and it made its way around their loose circle. Harry and Clara left when the illicit drugs came out, most likely to go back to Clara’s.

By 1, Anderson was passed out in the corner. Irene had lead Greg away to the bedroom with a crook of her finger. Mike was attempting to chat up Sally. Molly and John were laughing so hard they were crying at Sherlock’s stoned ramblings. Sherlock was lying spread-eagle on the carpet.

Around 2:30, Sally and Mike gathered up Anderson and left. John lay down on his back next to Sherlock and Molly curled up on the couch. Soon after, Molly's breathing levels off as she falls asleep.

John wakes up on the carpeted floor of Molly's basement, Sherlock huddled up against him. Greg is reclined back at one end of the couch, his hand in Molly's hair. She has her head on a pillow on his lap. Irene’s shoes have disappeared from there spot next to the stairs, signaling her departure at some point during the night. John digs his phone from his shorts pocket to check the time. It reads 7:28. He groans and Sherlock opens one eye and looks up at him blearily.

"Can you keep it quiet? My head is pounding."

John chuckles, kissing Sherlock’s temple. "That’ll be the hangover, love."

"Stop being cute and British down there, I swear to god!"

"Molly, would you ever so kindly shut the fuck up?"

"How do you do that, love? Take one of your debilitating character flaws and make it endearing?"

 

Greg flings a pillow that hits John square in the head. "Don’t encourage him, John."

Molly pulls herself upright on the couch, pulling her messy hair in a bun while she started talking.

"I’m gonna go upstairs and make breakfast. You guys want some, come up with me."

Greg and John are right on her heels up the stairs. Sherlock is slower following them up, his interesting in John pulling him along more than his interest in food.


	8. Chapter 8

Faster than either boy would like, Graduation rolls around, and Sherlock finds himself sitting in the bleachers next to Molly with Nicholas and the Watson's behind him. The gymnasium fills quickly, and then the band begins to play. Teachers enter first, and Warren shoots them a grin from his place between Mr. Jackson and Mrs. Henry. The graduating class follows, two by two. Irene, right at the front, looks the closest to nervous Sherlock has ever seen her. Greg, near the middle, is smiling wide, and sends a wink up at Molly. Johns at the very end and follows along in a daze. He’d expressed his anxiety to Sherlock the night before.

Once they are all seated, Dr. Evans gets up to speak. The class president, salutatorian and valedictorian follow. Finally, after much inane speech-making, they began calling up students, one row at a time, in alphabetical order to walk across the stage. Molly and Sherlock clap enthusiastically for Irene and send catcalls after Greg that turn him an alarming shade of red. When they call John's name, Sherlock, Molly, Nicholas, Clara and all three Watson's are on their feet, clapping and cheering as loud as they can. John smiles weakly in their direction, still looking as if he may throw up or pass out.

There’s more speech-making and waiting, and finally the graduates are marching back out of the gym and into the cafeteria to receive their physical diploma. Molly and Sherlock are on their feet in a flash, pressing forward with the crowd. For a moment, they stand against the wall looking for Greg and John. Suddenly, Molly's off and Sherlock sees her wrapped around Greg. He scans the crowd again, then spots John, on his tip toes, looking for Sherlock. Sherlock shoves through the crowd to get to his boyfriends side as fast as he can. John sees him and starts pushing his way to Sherlock, meeting him halfway. They collide and Sherlock lifts John completely off the floor, planting a sloppy kiss on his lips. John laughs, holding on tight to the taller boy.

John grips Sherlock’s hand tight and pulls him through the crowded cafeteria. They meet Irene first, and give her quick congrats and hugs. They pause next at Molly and Greg, exchanging their congratulations and hugs and plans for a party that evening. A few of John’s closer soccer mates clap him on the shoulder as they pass, teasing and catcalling after him. They find Warren, Nicholas, Mr. and Mrs. Watson, Harry and Clara in a corner. His mother, then Harry, and finally Warren give John huge hugs, and his father and Nicholas shake his hand. Sherlock puts his arm around Johns shoulder, pulling him closer as the small group talks animatedly. Johns arm winds around Sherlock’s waist unconsciously, and Sherlock smiles fondly down at the boy.

When John entered Sherlock’s attic room, Sherlock was curled up in the window seat. His eyes were ringed red and a cigarette dangled between his lips. The ashtray at his feet was full. His messy curls were even more out of place than usual.

John pauses at the top of the stairs, mildly shock. Dread twists in his stomach. Sherlock is not easily upset, so John anticipates the worst. When Sherlock speaks, his words were soft and gentle, and John’s heart drops to his stomach.

"I'm going back to London. I don't think I'm coming back."

He doesn't look at John, but stares out the east facing window-toward London, John realizes with a jolt. Questions build up behind his teeth but only one slips over his lips.

"When?"

Sherlock hesitates and John knows it’s not good.

"My flight leaves first thing Monday morning."

Monday. /Two days/ away. John takes two steps towards him, and drops. He's so utterly numb, he doesn't feel his knees smack against the hardwood floor. He looks up at Sherlock, and Sherlock can see the panic rising in his eyes.

"I'm not breaking it off. I'm extending an invitation. Mycroft booked two tickets. Mummy wants you to come home with me. At least for the summer. You could go to University of London or take a gap year, or come home in August, but please. Come with me."

Sherlock scrambles off the seat and onto the floor at Johns side. John collapses into his arms. He gathers the boy close, burying his face in his sandy blond hair.

"I can't promise my parents will allow it. But I’ll try."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? An update? Well, I'll be damned.

By Sunday night, all of Sherlock’s things were packed away in boxes to be shipped to London or his suitcase and duffel bag to accompany him on the plane. John comes over a large suitcase and his backpack in tow near midnight.

The following morning, Warren drives the boys to the airport. It’s long and too early and John sleeps on Sherlock’s shoulder most of the way there. It doesn’t take them long, though, to check in to their flight and tag their suitcases and send them on their way. Security is a bit of a hassle for the international terminal. John stops at the one fast food place open in the terminal that early, McDonalds, and grabs some food on their way to the gate. The waiting and then boarding take a long time. It’s a long flight, just over 8 hours. Sherlock retreats into his mind palace and John alternates between watching movies and sleeping.

Its 9 pm when they land, and by time they get through customs and get through the baggage claim, it’s nearly 11. Standing just outside the baggage claim is a tall man in a suit with a sign that reads 'S. Holmes.' Sherlock refers to the man as James and he takes their suitcases and leads them to a sleek black car waiting just outside the terminal. It took about 25 minutes to drive from Heathrow to the London house.

It wasn’t anything crazy, not like the manor, but it was a spacious, high-end row house his father had purchased when he was just a baby so they could be closer to work. James carried their cases up to the front steps, opened the door, and let the boys in before following with the cases.

Sherlock chuckled at John's surprised face as the elder boy took in the elegantly decorated foyer and sitting room.

"You actually live here? When you said Kensington, I knew you had money, but I didn't expect this."

"It's a bit much for the four of us, but my father has his tastes. Mummy!?"

A returning call sounded from the next floor, and then, a middle aged woman with dark auburn hair appeared at the top of the stairs in front of them. She met the boys at the bottom of the stairs and Sherlock stooped to embrace the woman. It was easy to see where Sherlock got most of his facial features.

"Mummy, this is my boyfriend, John Watson. John, this is my mother."

John extended his hand and Mrs. Holmes shook it firmly.

"Good to meet you."

"It's a pleasure, ma'am."

"Call me Natalie. Sherlock failed to mention you were English."

John shot Sherlock a /look/ but he ignored it.

"Yes, we lived here in London until I was 14, when my dad left the Army."

"That’s lovely. Why don’t you boys head to bed, it’s quite late and I’m sure you’re exhausted after your flight. We can catch up in the morning."

The trio gave their good nights and Natalie headed upstairs. Sherlock turns and leads John through the sitting room and kitchen and down the stairs into the basement. It was finished and quite cozy for a basement, much like the attic room at Warrens. There’s dark paneling on the walls and a huge four poster bed is pushed into the corner.

Sherlock leaves his case and bag on the floor at the foot of the bed and starts to strip down. John follows suit and the pair crawl into Sherlock’s immensely soft bed together. It isn’t long before the pair fall asleep curled up together.

\---

John wakes up in the usual manner; slowly, to the heat of Sherlock pressed flush to his side. He can hear someone puttering around in the kitchen, directly above them. The clock on his phone reads 7:26 AM. He groans softly, and Sherlock tips his head back to look at him.

"Good morning, John."

John plants a sloppy kiss on Sherlock’s cheek and stretches.

"How long have you been awake then?" John groans.

Sherlock hums and kisses the top of Johns head. "'Bout 2 hours, I guess."

John yawns and rolls into the heat of Sherlock’s body. The pair lay together for nearly an hour before Sherlock rolls out of bed. John groans at the loss of contact.

"C'mon, Mycroft and Father will be off to work by now but Mummy will want to see us."

John drags himself out of bed after Sherlock and the pair head upstairs into the kitchen. Natalie is sat at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea. She looks up when she hears two pairs of bare feet padding across the tile floor.

"Good morning, boys."

Sherlock flops down in the chair across from his mother and John sits between them.

"So John. Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself? I want to know, who’s this kid my youngest is so infatuated with? He had no interest in people when he left here in the fall."

"Um, I’m 18 and I just graduated high school. I’m the younger of 2; I have an older sister named Harry. My dad was in the army and I considered enlisting for a long time, but I changed my mind. I’m going to a community college in the fall to get my gen Eds done and then I’m going to the University of Chicago after that for their pre-Med program. I enjoy playing football. Um. I don’t know, what would you like to know?"

"He's absolutely brilliant, Mummy. He's smart and patient and kind and caring. He's crazily athletic. He's quite sarcastic as well, but oh so funny."

"You sound quite smitten, love. You must be wonderful, John." Natalie stood from her chair. "Let me make you boys some breakfast and I’ll let you go about your day. But remember, Sherlock, you need to be home for dinner so your father and your brother can meet John."

Sherlock groaned loudly as Natalie set about preparing breakfast.

"Yes, Mummy."

Sherlock turned his face towards John, just enough to make eye contact.

"What do you wanna do today?"

John shrugged.

"Can we just wander the city? It’s been too long since I’ve been here. I wanna go to my old neighborhood, as well. Just to see what’s changed."

Sherlock nods. Natalie sets a full plate in front of each of the boys as well as a stack of notes in front of Sherlock.

"For cabs and lunch. Just remember to be home by 6 for dinner."

"I remember. Thanks, Mummy."

John digs into his breakfast, whereas Sherlock mostly just picks at his, eating about half. Natalie gathers the plates and cleans them while the boys go downstairs to get ready for the day. Sherlock digs out a pair of dark jeans and a purple button up and a pair of boxers from his suitcase and threw them on the bed. John grabs a t-shirt and some blue jeans and a pair of pants and sets them next to Sherlock’s clothes. Sherlock grabs two towels from a cupboard under the stairs and then leads John into his bathroom.

Sherlock turns on the water in the shower and starts stripping, piling his pajamas on the floor. Soon, Sherlock steps under the steaming hot spray of the water, pulling the curtain closed behind him. John rummages through the medicine cabinet and digs out a unopened disposable razor and a can of shaving cream and sets them next to the sink before stripping down to his pants.

He’s just finishing up shaving when Sherlock steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. They exchange a short kiss before John sheds his pants and steps into the shower himself. When he shuts off the water when he’s finished, it’s dead quiet. John peeks out to see Sherlock leaning over the sink, eyes shut. His hair is still dripping wet and he only has a towel slung around his hips. John grabs the towel next to the shower and ducks back inside to dry off before wrapping the towel around his waist and climbing out. Sherlock doesn’t move an inch until Johns standing directly beside him. Only then does he turn his head to meet John’s eyes.

"I want to go home," he begs John.

"Love, you are home."

Sherlock shakes his head, spraying John with water from his hair.

"This isn’t a home. This is a house with four very separate inhabitants. Home is with Warren and Nicholas and you and Harry and your parents and Molly and Greg." One single tear trails down Sherlock’s face, though his voice is steady. John wraps the taller boy up in a hug.

"We'll discuss it with your parents over dinner. C’mon. Let’s go enjoy a day out in London."

The pair head back into Sherlock's room to dress hastily before heading out into a cool, overcast London.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock truly, honestly has fun. They take a cab into John’s old neighborhood and he shows Sherlock around, telling anecdotes about certain locations and commenting on changes in others. Then they take another cab into the heart of the city and grab lunch at a small cafe called Speedy's. It’s cramped and stuffy but the food is wonderful and the staff is lovely. Afterwards, the pair wander the city, jumping on the Tube at random stations. They spend a great deal of time just sitting on the banks of the Thames and talking. Finally, though, Sherlock determines is time to catch a cab if they want to make it home in time for dinner.

It’s a fairly long cab ride across London to the townhouse, and Sherlock pays the cabbie as John climbs out of the taxi. John waits for Sherlock on the pavement and then follows him into the house. The grandfather clock in the sitting room chimes 6 as the boys kick off their shoes and shed their coats in the foyer. A call comes from the kitchen.

"Siger?" 

"No, Mummy," Sherlock calls back as he trails through the sitting room and into the kitchen. Natalie and a short, blonde woman are moving around each other with ease as they work on whatever dish they’re preparing for dinner. "Father’s late. Is Mycroft as well?"

Natalie huffs and tucks a stray curl behind her ear.

"Mycroft’s upstairs, just got in not 5 minutes ago. Your father should be home soon, if your brother got home on time. Go get cleaned up and set the table," She gestures toward the dining table with the knife in her hand and goes back to chopping the veg. "I do hope you aren’t as picky as Sherlock, John, dear."

John smiles, "definitely not picky," and lets Sherlock’s incessant tugging on the tail of his shirt win, and follows the tall boy across the kitchen. Sherlock washes his hands at a sink off to one side and John leans against the counter next to him.

"So your father’s name is Siger and your brother is Mycroft and you’re Sherlock. I’m gonna take a wild guess and say your dad named you both," John chuckled.

"Yes. But our mother gave us both French middle names as she is a French native. Mines Sacha." Sherlock wrinkles his nose. "Not as bad as Mycroft’s though. She named him Jeptha."

John snorts and moves forward to wash his hands while Sherlock collects the dinnerware for the table. The tray of dinnerware Sherlock returns with seems to be overflowing for 5 people. There are dessert plates and dinner plates and water glasses and wine glasses and more silverware than John can even imagine. Sherlock is methodical in his movements, even after being away from the formal table setting for almost a year. John is rather blown away by this new tidbit of information about Sherlock.

"Glasses go on the right side of the setting, sweetheart. And flip the silverware. Forks on the left, spoons and knifes on the right." Natalie chastises Sherlock from her place in front of the oven. He flushes and sets to work fixing the settings. John helps, following Sherlock’s movements.

"I forgot," he admits to John. "You and Warren are both left handed, so Nicholas and I set the table backwards."

After they fix the settings, Sherlock steps back and stares at the table for a moment, before turning to his mother.

"Mummy, were going to have to switch up our seats. Johns left handed and there are only two seats where he won’t be knocking elbows with anyone and one is Fathers seat at the head of the table."

Natalie hums to herself, looking over at the table while she stands in front of a simmering pot on the cook top.

"Your father won’t be happy if I allowed you to sit next to each other, because that would move Mycroft away from his left. You can sit next to me, dear, and John can sit next to Mycroft. That will please your father AND your brother, yes?"

Sherlock shrugs and pulls a stool from under the counter and sits across from where his mother stands. There are footsteps on the stairs and moments later, a young man in what’s left of a three piece suit-tie and jacket abandoned and shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows-enters the kitchen. He’s somehow taller than Sherlock, with Natalie’s auburn hair and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose. He’s definitely heavier than Sherlock, but the way Sherlock had described him, John had nearly expected him to be incredibly overweight.

"Mycroft, is your father home yet?"

Mycroft nods his head, taking the seat next to Sherlock.

"He just got in. He went upstairs to clean up for dinner."

Natalie nods and turns to the blonde woman, who’s standing not far down the worktop, putting the finishing touches on a dessert.

"Eliza, you’re free to go when you’ve finished that. I can handle it from here."

The woman-Eliza-nods and thanks Natalie and turns back to the dessert. When she’s finished, she washes her hands, hangs the apron that was tied about her waist on a hook in the corner, exchanging it for a bag and a light jacket, and says her goodbyes to the family and leaving through the back door.

Mycroft turns to John, who’s standing on Sherlock’s other side.

"So you must be John. I’m Mycroft."

John nods and shakes the man’s hand.

"It’s a pleasure. Sherlock’s told me a lot."

Mycroft chuckles, "And I’m sure most of it was complaining?"

John grins, laughing lightly and nods. He leans into Sherlock, who’s sulking at the pair’s laughter, and he can feel Mycroft’s gaze on him, the same gaze he feels when Sherlock’s observing him, deducing him. The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk and he looks at Mycroft out of the corner of his eye and the man hurriedly turns away. A voice sounds from behind them, in the doorway.

"The entire family beat me home? That’s unusual."

John turns and catches sight of the man. He’s tall as well, with dark, shorn hair. His suit coat and waistcoat and tie are missing from his dark suit and his crisp white shirt is untucked and the sleeves are rolled up. And while Sherlock so obviously inherited his eyes and his mouth from his mother, his nose and his high cheekbones and alabaster skin were all his fathers.

Siger stepped around the counter to kiss Natalie on the cheek with a smile before clapping Mycroft on the shoulder and then turning to Sherlock.

Sherlock avoided his father’s gaze, but John saw how Siger's eyes went warm and soft when he looked at his youngest son.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded sharply, still not looking at his father. Siger sighed and turned to John instead.

"So you’re the infamous John Watson. I’ve heard a lot. Mostly through Mycroft, but you know how Sherlock is."

John smiled and nodded and shook the man’s hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

"Please. Call me Siger. I hear enough 'sir' at work."

Siger turns and ruffles his youngest son’s long, unruly hair. John can’t remember him getting a haircut in the 9 months he’s known Sherlock, and his hair was fairly long when they met.

"You’re due for a haircut, kid."

Sherlock tenses under his father’s hand. He relaxes noticeably when Siger turns his attention to the pot simmering on the hob.

"What’s for dinner, love?"

"Coq au vin. I finally found a reason to use that lovely Burgundy you bought last month."

Sherlock perks up noticeably at the name of the dish and John smiles at the boy’s smile of disbelief.

"You made my favorite?"

Natalie clicks off the cook top and steps around the counter.

"Of course. I haven’t seen you in months and I was sure you missed a good French meal." She plants a kiss at his hairline and smiles down at him. "Now, go, all of you. Ill serve and then your father can give the blessing."

The four men went and seated themselves around the table, leaving an empty seat between Sherlock and Siger for Natalie. She started with John, serving their guest first, and continued anticlockwise around the table, ending with Sherlock. She emptied the last of the pot onto his place, leaving it heaping with chicken and veg. Then she fills their water glasses from one of two decanters on the table. She follows with the second, filling their wine glasses with a deep red wine. John notices she pours Sherlock a glass. She only half fills it, but she pours him a glass, regardless of him being underage.

Once Natalie seated herself, Siger gives a short blessing and then they all dig into the dish. Sherlock absolutely shovels the food into his mouth and John chuckles. He’d never once seen Sherlock eat with such enthusiasm.

About halfway through the meal, after Sherlock’s slowed down some, he broaches the subject of Oregon. Or, well. Dives into the subject head first with no warning.

"I want to go back to Oregon with John in the fall."

The table falls silent. John hides behind his wine glass.

"Are you sure? Mycroft said you missed London and that’s why we brought you home." Natalie’s voice is soft and gentle.

"God, yes I missed London. I missed London and you and Father and even stupid, bloody Mycroft. But I have friends in Oregon. I enjoyed my teachers and had fun outside school and I went to a school sponsored dance, for god’s sake! And Warren and Nicholas are completely wonderful and Warren cried just a bit when I left and I feel so at home there. I can come home over Christmas and Easter and for the summer, but I want to finish up school at OHS and go to University of Chicago with John or maybe Northwestern University, but we'd only be across town and not half way across the bloody world, because I love him. I completely and honestly love him, so please." 

Sherlock’s voice drifted off at the end and he'd turned all his attention to Siger. His eyes are wide and pleading as he meets his father’s eyes for the first time of the night. Siger’s face falls out of shock and into soft affection. After a few tense moments, he nods.

"You can go back. Ill set it all up. Get the tickets in order for the both of you. Give me the date, soon as you can."

Suddenly, Siger turns his gaze on John and he flushes nervously.

"Thank you, John. I’ve never seen my son passionate for anything but trouble before."

John stumbles over his words as he looks for a response.

"Um. You’re welcome? I haven’t done much, honest. I’m just sorta here."


	11. Chapter 11

That night, after a slice each of Eliza’s honey blueberry clafoutis, Sherlock and John retreated to the basement for the night. John collapsed onto the bed, too full to even consider moving. Sherlock set about emptying first Johns suitcase and then his own. He managed to fit all of Johns clothing into the top drawer of his dresser and a third of the wardrobe. All of Sherlock’s clothing took up about the same amount. Then he dug out his laptop and powered it on to check his email. He plants himself next to John, and leans back against the wall.

There are three messages in his inbox when the page loads. The first is from Warren.

###

Sherlock, 

Were already missing you and John. The house is insufferably quiet without you. I just want you to know, you’re welcome in our house anytime. So please, visit us when you can. I’ll keep your room as it is.

Much love, 

Warren

###

The second email is from Nicholas. It’s a fair bit longer than Warrens.

###

Sherlock

Warrens been completely insufferable since you’ve left. He mopes around the house all day and when I’m gone on a case, he flat out refuses to stay home, opting instead to go to Nash or even drive into Dixon or sometimes Rockford to do a bit of shopping.

Please, keep in touch and try and make it round for a visit sometime. We both miss you and John. Tell him he’s free to come by when he returns for school in the fall. It'd be lovely to see him.

I found a couple of your books on the bookcase and that necklace that John gave you on the counter by the kettle. I’ll send them your way.

Nous vous aimons toujours. Meilleurs vœux, mon petit.

Nicholas

###

The third email was from Molly, recounting various events they missed out on and news on Greg and Irene's choices of school and how Molly and Greg were doing. It went on and on and Sherlock mostly just skimmed it.

"So. Thought your dad was terrible? Seemed pretty nice to me."

Sherlock sighed before replying.

"He’s a loving and compassionate father. I love him and he loves me. But he’s never home. And his disciplinary methods are more extensive than necessary."

He presents his left palm to John, showing him the blobby pink scarring on the heel of his hand. John had noticed his scars but chose not to pry.

"I got this when I was 10 for scorching the kitchen table. He pressed my hand onto a burner on the hob."

Sherlock strips off his shirt and turns to show his back to John. There are thick, crisscrossing scars there.

"I got those when I was 14 for getting suspended from school. He whipped me with a belt."

He rolls up his pant leg and exposes a long, jagged scar on his calf.

"I got this when I was 7. I was running from some older kids and jumped a fence and sliced my leg open. My father was there to patch it up long enough to take me to A&E for stitches and comfort me afterwards."

John's a tad alarmed when Sherlock unbuttons his trousers, but is pacified a bit when his pants stay on, even when his trousers hang at his knees. He points to a series of perfectly straight scars on his thigh.

"I gave myself these when I was 15. Tried to kill myself. Father found me bleeding out at the bottom of the shower and took me to A&E. He saved my life that night, and sat up with me while they pumped the pint of blood I lost into me."

Sherlock pulls his pants back up and rebuttoning them before relaxing back on the bed.

"So you see, I love my father, but at the same time I resent him and I’m scared of him."

"You should see the scars Harry's got," John starts as Sherlock pulls his laptop back onto his lap. "She went to stay at my grandparents when she got in trouble one week and came back with all these bruises and cuts that had been stitched up quite poorly. Wouldn’t tell us anything, so my mum called my grandmother. Apparently Grandfather had beat her pretty well because she let slip she was gay. Gran patched her up and sent her home. Shortly after that, my grandparents got divorced because of the incident and we haven’t seen or heard from Gramps since."

Sherlock hums out a noncommittal noise and sets about typing up an email to Warren about when school reconvenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Two chapters in one day?
> 
> So I had thought that chapters 10 and 11 would be one big chapter, but that ended up being ridiculously long. So I cut it into two chapters!


	12. Chapter 12

The summer is slow and Sherlock and John spend most of it running about London. Sherlock is immensely grateful when he and John board their flight from London Heathrow to O'Hare International. John sleeps on Sherlock’s shoulder most of the flight.

Warren and Mrs. Watson are there to greet them when they exit the terminal. Even after they arrive in Oregon, its only early afternoon. Mrs. Watson drops Warren and Sherlock off at Warren’s house. John spends the day with his parents and sister. Sherlock curls up in a comfy arm chair in Warrens study while Warren works on finishing his lesson plans for the year. They make light conversation and Warren digs out Sherlock’s schedule from a small pile of school related mail on his desk. He ends up with nearly all the classes he requested.

First thing in the morning, he has AP Chemistry, and then French IV. Easy classes, especially for the morning. Then he has Statistics, AP English Literature, and American Government. He winds up with second lunch, and after lunch, he has AP Psychology, Speech, and a Study Hall. Somehow-probably by Warren’s meddling-he'd gotten out of taking a gym class, at least, first semester. Second semester he had Sociology instead of Government and Gym instead of Speech.

Warren and Sherlock both perk up at the soft 'snick' of the lock on the kitchen door and meet each other’s eyes.

"Nicholas," they chorus, pulling themselves from their seats. They race down the stairs and into the kitchen. Nicholas turns at the pair of heavy footsteps, brow furrowed. His jaw drops when he sees Sherlock and he rushes to hug the skinny teen. The two dark haired men both have wide smiles on their faces. 

Nicholas takes a step back and grabs Sherlock’s shoulders. He looks the boy over before speaking.

"Warren didn’t tell me you were coming home. God, your hairs gotten long. Did you grow or am I shrinking?"

Sherlock suddenly becomes aware that, yes, he does have to look down at Warren and Nicholas. Not much, in Nicholas' case, but still. Then his mind backpedals, stuttering over the word 'home.'

"You...you said home."

Warren comes to stand beside Sherlock and Nicholas, his boys, and smiles up at them.

"Of course he said 'home," Sherlock. This will always be a home to you."

Sherlock smiles widely, shock flickering over his features. Warren reaches up and places a soft kiss on the boy’s forehead.

\---

As it turns out, Monday, Wednesday and Friday, John is free during Sherlock’s lunch period. He has two early classes those days and is home by 11:30, so they make a habit of having lunch together. John brings food of some sort and they eat together with Warren, who has a prep period that hour. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, when John has class from 11:30 to 3:15, Sherlock will usually sit with Molly and Mike in an out of the way corner of the cafeteria.

They fall back into an easy habit. John and Sherlock work out a system of nights at each other’s houses, and sit and do homework together and a fair bit of snogging as well. Sherlock ALWAYS goes to the Watson's on Wednesday because its pizza night. On Mondays and Fridays if Nicholas is home, John will go to Warrens, because Nicholas makes odd French-Canadian meals, or sometimes poutine.

Sherlock starts applying to schools in Chicago that fall, passing on all the information to Mycroft and sitting down with John and Nicholas and Warren to discuss his options.

Eventually, he gets accepted into Northwestern, University of Chicago and University of Illinois at Chicago. John strongly encourages him to take Northwestern's offer, as does Nicholas. So he thinks, weighing the options. 

That October, while John signs up for his last few necessary classes for the spring at Sauk Valley, Sherlock sends off his letter to Northwestern, accepting their invitation to attend their school. 

At Thanksgiving, the Watsons and the Holmes' all crowd around the small dining table in the Watsons kitchen for dinner.

In December, everything is finalized and Sherlock gains his dual citizenship of England and the United States. For Christmas, John and Sherlock go to London for a week.

In January, Sherlock turns 18. To celebrate, John takes him to a hookah bar, then to the little Italian place in Byron he likes so much, and then back to the empty Watson household for some alone time.

John takes Sherlock’s virginity.

It’s perfect. It’s slow and easy and it’s better than any high Sherlock’s ever experienced. Afterwards, Sherlock’s a squid of affection, completely wrapped around his boyfriend. They fall asleep in a tangle of limbs, and Sherlock sleeps through the night.

In early May, the pair, along with Mrs. Watson and Nicholas, take a trip into Chicago. The first day, they separate, each going to their separate universities for class registration and to tie up all the final loose ends. That evening, they meet up for dinner and then head to a hotel for the night. The next day, the four go to Navy Pier to do a bit of shopping and have lunch before heading home.

In late May, Sherlock graduates from Oregon High School. This time, its John and Greg’s turn to watch from the bleachers as their significant others walk across that stage. The entire Watson family comes, as well as Nicholas. Natalie Holmes flies out for the weekend to see the ceremony as well. Sherlock and Molly end up sat next to each other, while Mike sits a few rows back. Even from the bleachers, John can see Sherlock pestering poor Molly for most of the ceremony.

Afterwards, Greg grabs hold of John’s shirtsleeve and pulls him along on his quest to seek out Molly. It does take them long to spot Sherlock, towering over the crowd and subsequently Molly, who was hanging onto the sleeve of Sherlock’s gown, so she wouldn’t get lost in the masses.

Sherlock, Natalie, Warren, Nicholas and the Watson all go for dinner that evening. They all manage to cram around one table at La Vigna. Natalie and Nicholas end up getting on quite well, having hushed conversations in French together. Warren and Mr. and Mrs. Watson toss about jokes and discuss school and things. Harry pokes and prods at John and Sherlock, teasing the pair. Sherlock gets her right back, of course, and by dessert, she’s flaming red and John is fighting back tears from how hard he's laughing.

Natalie stays a few days in the guest room at Warrens before returning to London. Sherlock, John, Warren and Nicholas have plane tickets to meet the family in Paris in two weeks time for a bit of a holiday. John and Sherlock split the two weeks between packing and spending time with the Watsons.

Sherlock gives John a crash course in French culture and language over the two weeks. John doesn’t take much away from the lessons on the language, except to stay close to a Holmes at all times. He'd taken 4 years of Spanish in high school, because, as a doctor in the US, it would be much more practical.

Warren spends an entire afternoon at the bank, flagging his and Nicholas' debit cards and exchanging money for the trip. John goes to his bank the next afternoon to do the same thing. Sherlock is assured by Mycroft that as soon as he makes it to the flat, he'll receive his debit card and a bit a cash, both from his account in London.


	13. Chapter 13

They have a late flight out of Chicago, putting them in Paris midmorning. A man in a suit is waiting with a sign that reads 'Holmes-Bouchard' just outside the terminal.

It’s a rather long drive from the airport to the flat. John finds himself in a bit of shock when they pull up in front of a row of shops rather than a row of houses. Sherlock climbs out onto the pavement and leads the other three to a door set back between two shops as the driver unloads their cases. He lets himself in and clomps up the stairs. There’s another door at the top of the stairs that opens into a cozy sitting room. Natalie is sat on the sofa and Siger is standing by the tall windows overlooking the street.

Natalie stands, hugging first Sherlock and then John. Nicholas and Warren hover uncertainly behind the boys as Siger comes to stand behind his wife. Sherlock steps aside and stiffly shakes his father’s hand, John following. Natalie turned and greeted Nicholas and Warren with warm hugs and a smile.

Siger stepped forward and offered his hand to Warren.

"Brother. It’s been a long time."

Warren shook his little brother’s hand firmly with a nod.

"8 years. Mostly because Father wanted nothing to do with me."

Then Siger did the unexpected. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his brother, clinging to the shorter man. Warren returned the hug tentatively.

"I’m sorry, War. I understand now. I know I was a terrible brother then, but Sherlock’s made me understand and I’m so sorry."

Warren smiled sadly against Siger's shoulder and squeezed the other man tighter.

"Don’t worry about it, Ziggy. As long as were okay now."

Siger stepped back with a nod and a smile before turning to Nicholas.

"Nicholas. It’s wonderful to see you again."

Nicholas smiled and shook Siger’s hand. Sherlock dipped his head to speak quietly into John’s ear as they watched the proceedings.

"Maybe there’s hope yet for my father."

John smacked Sherlock’s arm while the other boy snickered. Natalie cut off his laughter by telling him to show Warren and Nicholas their room and to take his and John’s cases to his room. Sherlock grumbled, but complied, heading down the hall. He pointed out the guest room to Warren and Nicholas before tugging John along to his room.

Sherlock’s room wasn’t what he expected. It was small, much like the attic at Warrens, crammed tight with a queen sized bed, a dresser, a wardrobe, a desk, and a bookcase. The walls were a soft blue, and one wall was clear for the three floor to ceiling windows overlooking the street. The room was bright and clean, but cozy.

Sherlock starts unpacking while John flops back onto the bed.

"So's Mycroft coming out for holiday?"

Sherlock snorts, but continues to methodically unpack.

"Yes. Mummy says he’s bringing his assistant turned girlfriend with him. Mycroft says Mummy’s nagging him to get married. She wants grandkids and she lost hope with me ages ago, so all of her prodding’s been focused on Mycroft. I expect this will prove to be an interesting holiday."

"When did Mycroft get a girlfriend? I don’t remember her being around at Christmas."

Sherlock scoffs and falls back onto the bed with John.

"Apparently they became an item over New Years. Utterly cliché."

The pair lay together for a while in comfortable silence before Sherlock rolls over onto John, firmly pinning the older boy. He dips down to press a series of soft kisses along the older boys jaw and throat. John hums contentedly when Sherlock kisses the corner of his mouth. He peppers kisses all over the blonds face until he has John giggling softly. Sherlock smiles his wide crooked smile and nuzzles against the crook of Johns neck.

There’s a firm knock on the door and then Natalie calling for them to join the family in the sitting room. Sherlock groans and rolls off John and the bed. Everyone’s gathered in the sitting room. Mycroft is standing near the door, two large cases by his feet and a surprisingly lovely looking young woman next to him. In her heels, she’s nearly as tall as Mycroft. She’s slim but curvy with dark hair and she looks to be about 18. Mycroft turns to look at Sherlock and John as they enter the room.

"Ah, Anthea, this is my little brother Sherlock and his boyfriend, John Watson."

John shakes Anthea's hand while Sherlock eyes her up, deducing all he can. Afterwards, Sherlock pulls John off to an armchair in the corner and sits to whisper his deductions in his ear. He pulls John onto his lap and wraps an arm around his waist before he begins.

"She’s 21, fresh out of Uni, Poli Sci major. Top of her class, obviously if Mycroft hired her. She’s very much infatuated with him and him with her. She’s a smoker and she’s gotten Mycroft back into the habit. Her mobile and her heels are new and much more expensive than her blouse and skirt, so gift from Myc. They’ve come straight from the office. Mycroft is still wearing his jacket even though its wrinkled and she’s got ink on her left hand from where she drug it through the ink as she was writing. Her suitcase is the same size as Mycroft’s, though girl like her would have a lot more things to bring. She smells like Mycroft’s shampoo and soap as well, so she’s probably moved a few of her things over to his flat but hasn’t taken the majority of her belongings there. They’re in the process of moving in together and Mycroft looks so smug because he knows Mummy will be pleased."

"Sherlock, it’s rude to share your deductions about people in good company," Natalie chastises him from across the room. Sherlock flushes and presses his face between John’s shoulder blades in embarrassment. John chuckles at his boyfriend and turns his attention to watch everyone else.

Warren and Siger are standing by the windows, catching up on missed time. John sees the family resemblance when the stand together. Both are thin with dark hair going a bit grey around the ears and dark eyes. They have the same short nose and thin lips and they even hold themselves the same way. Shoulders back and chin tilted up just a hair. The brothers are smiling warmly and laughing together, much like he'd seen Sherlock and Mycroft do on one occasion, at Christmas the past year.

Nicholas and Mycroft appear to be talking politics together. Nicholas is leaning against the arm of a chair and Mycroft is leaning on his umbrella next to him. Nicholas' face is serious, with just a hint of a smile around his eyes to indicate that he's enjoying himself. Mycroft is giving Nicholas his slightly strained, uncomfortable smile when Nicholas makes a particularly scathing remark about the young government official’s occupation. Nicholas is not particularly fond of politics and refuses to watch almost all news channels because of the politically fueled viewpoints the stories take.

Anthea's sat on the couch with Natalie and they’re chatting amiably. Natalie’s cooing over Anthea and Mycroft's cohabitation in progress. Even sitting down, Anthea towers over little Natalie and John knows the case would be the same for him.

When Sherlock finally unwinds himself from around John, John moves off his lap to sit on the arm of the chair instead. Mycroft and Nicholas separate, Nicholas joining Warren and Siger and Mycroft heading in the direction of the two boys. Mycroft stops in front of Sherlock and reaches into his suit coat, extracting a small bundle of bills and a plastic card from a pocket and hands them to his brother. Sherlock takes them and slides them into his trouser pockets.

"That should be more than enough to last you the trip, brother."

Then Mycroft turns away and crosses the room to sit with his mother and girlfriend.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mild shower sex this chapter

The eight of them all manage to cram around the dining room table that night for dinner. Warren, John and Anthea are all knocking elbows with someone, due to left-handedness. 

Afterwards, they all retire to the lounge with drinks. The Holmes men all pour themselves three fingers of scotch and gather at the three arm chairs on one side of the room. Sherlock, in a surprisingly respectful move, leaves the chairs to his elders, instead choosing to perch on the arm of Mycroft’s chair. Natalie, Anthea, Nicholas and John relax into the couch with a glass of white wine each. About half way through his glass, John slumps against Nicholas' shoulder in a fit of exhaustion. When his eyes start to slide closed, Nicholas pries the wine glass from his hands and sets it on the coffee table.

John wakes up in Sherlock’s bed the next morning, all alone. He’s been changed into one of his old baggy shirts and some flannel pajama pants and he suspects Sherlock behind it. He stretches and sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. John can hear contented chatter and laughter and clinking from the kitchen. He drags himself out of bed and shuffles down the hall into the kitchen.

Sherlock, Nicholas, Anthea and Natalie are gathered around the island in the center of the rather messy kitchen. Anthea and Natalie are standing side by side and Natalie is explaining the process of whatever sort of pastry she’s working on. Nicholas is mashing strawberries that Sherlock has hulled. Several mason jars stand next to them. A pot sits on the stove with sugar in the bottom and a jar of lemon juice sits next to it. All four are chatting and joking and laughing and explaining. John leans in the doorway and watches, smiling at the mismatched family.

Sherlock glances up and sees him as he pulls the bowl away from Nicholas. He gestures for John to join them.

"John, can hull these strawberries for Nicholas so I can get this all mixed up and into the jar and start some coffee? We don’t think one jar of jam is going to cut it and I need some caffeine in me to keep going."

John nods and takes up Sherlock’s spot next to Nicholas and grabs the paring knife and begins carving out the stems of the strawberries. Sherlock scoops the mashed strawberries into the pot and adds some of the lemon juice before returning the bowl to Nicholas to mash more berries. It’s a methodical process and John loses track of himself until he runs out of strawberries to hull.

Mycroft wanders out into the kitchen, rumpled and sleepy, and Sherlock thrusts a cup of coffee at him and shoos him out into the sitting room. He repeats the process with Siger and then Warren in short order. After John scrubs his hands clean, Sherlock hands him a mug as well and leans down to kiss him. Its closed-mouth and sweet and warm. John can taste coffee and strawberries on his lips after.

"Good morning," Sherlock mutters against John’s temple while John sips at his coffee. John chuckles and returns the greeting.

"Go join the others," Sherlock urges him, pressing him in the direction of the lounge with a hand in the small of his back. John lets him, and he finds himself sat next to Siger on the sofa, Mycroft in an arm chair and Warren standing by the window. They all exchange pleasantries and make idle small talk as they sip their coffee and wait on breakfast.

Eventually they join the others in the dining room for breakfast. There’s the little pastries, which John is informed are called brioche, and strawberry jam and butter and even a bit of nutella. There’s more coffee and tea and orange juice and milk. By the end of the meal, Johns surprisingly full.

Siger and Warren take care of the washing up, dismissing Natalie and Nicholas to relax in the sitting room and urging to kids to get dressed and go out for the day. The four decide on a showering order and Anthea runs off to gather her things, as she’s been allowed the bathroom first.

John and Sherlock retreat back to their room, John immediately setting about to gather his things. Jeans, a t-shirts, and pants from the dresser, a towel from a cupboard. He flops down next to Sherlock and waits for the shower to open up.

Sherlock’s been on his laptop for a half hour when Mycroft ducks in to tell John the showers open. He scoops up his things from the desk and heads down the hall to the spacious bathroom. His clothes get set on the counter next to the sink, his towel hung from the rack next to the shower. He cranks the hot water, quickly filling the room with dense steam, and strips off his pajamas. He’s about half done with his shower when the door opens and shuts, and then Sherlock climbs in behind him.

"Well, hello, love," he chuckles in surprise. Sherlock winds his arms around John, pressing his erection against the cleft of his arse and leaning down to bite and suck at the crook of his neck. John gasps, then whimpers softly and now it’s Sherlock’s turn to chuckle. He rocks his hips forward against John arse, slowly, deliberately. John, much to Sherlock’s surprise, whips around and presses the taller boy back against the wall, slotting their hips together and rocking. The first slide of their erections together has Sherlock gripping at John, wherever he can reach; his arms, his neck, his hips, his bum. He finally settles for the small of his back, his nails leaving little cresant moons in the slightly tanned skin there.

Sherlock’s a whimpering mess, bucking his hips in search for more friction. John works a hand between them and wraps his fingers around both of their cocks. Sherlock bangs his head off the wall, with a strangled moan of John’s name. John shushes him and places his free hand firmly over his mouth.

Neither of them last long. John comes first, with hushed groans, all over Sherlock’s abdomen. He sinks to his knees and swallows down as much of Sherlock’s cock as he can in one go. Sherlock chokes down a sob, grips John’s hair tight and comes hard.

John takes a moment to catch his breath and then finishes up washing. Sherlock’s brain is just coming back online when John kisses him before stepping out of the shower. He towels himself off and pulls on his clothes and flattens his damp hair and heads back down the hall to Sherlock’s room to dig out a pair of socks. Then he flops down to lay in wait for his boyfriend.

Sherlock enters the room as well put together as always. His dark, tailored jeans hug his arse and thighs in all the right ways. His black button down is open at his throat, showing off his creamy white skin. The necklace John gave him, the dark cord with a small charm in the shape of a magnifying glass, falls right over his clavicle. His long dark hair is all pushed back and tucked behind his ears. A pair of dark, cotton socks cover his large feet. He smiles at John fondly and goes searching in the wardrobe for a moment before withdrawing. He sets Johns ratty Converse trainers by his feet before sitting down and pulling on his own leather shoes.

Sherlock gathers his wallet and phone, and stops. He turns to the wardrobe, grabs his dark, well fit blazer and throws it on. Then he tucks his wallet and phone inside one of the inner pockets. Johns tying his shoes when Sherlock sticks his head out the door to call down the hall.

"Mummy, am I going to need my key when we come home tonight?"

"If you plan on staying out past 10, yes. That’s when I’m locking the street door."

Sherlock grabs a set of two keys, hung from a long ball chain and throws it over his head, the keys hanging just below the exposed vee of skin at his chest. He takes Johns wallet before he can put it in his jeans pocket.

"Ill hold onto this. We’re taking the metro and you’ll stand out much more to pickpocketers. Plus it’s a lot harder for someone to pick an inside pocket. Keep your phone in your front pocket and keep an eye on it."

John nods, a little nervously, and follows Sherlock out into the sitting room. Natalie stands from her spot on the couch and grabs two plastic cards from the coffee table.

"Here," she says, handing them both to Sherlock. "Mycroft used photos from the ones you emailed us and went and bought them this morning for you. Have fun, be safe, and don’t stay out too late." She hugged them both and waved them on their way.

Sherlock handed John one of the cards on their way down the stairs. It was white and purple and had his name and his picture on it.

"That’s a navigo decouverte. For the purpose of simplifying things, it’s basically an oyster card. You use it to get on the métro, the bus and the RER. Don’t lose it." John pockets the card and follows Sherlock closely as they walk out onto the pavement. Sherlock catches Johns hand and tangles their fingers together.

"So what do you want to see today? We’re gonna do all the touristy stuff you want because it’s your first time here."

John just shrugs and looks down at the pavement as they walk.

"Ok. We'll go to Notre Dame and hang out in the Latin Quarter today. You'll like the Latin Quarter. It’s not super touristy, but generally filled with university students from the Sorbonne. Lots of eclectic little shops and cafes."

John smiles widely at the pure delight on his boyfriends face. They continue walking, for about 2 blocks, before they cross to a concrete island in the middle of the roadway and down the stairs into the metro station.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ahh, lengthy filler. I'm so sorry guys, this one got away from me...

It’s nearly midnight when the pair make it back to the flat in Montparnasse. It takes more than a bit of fumbling for Sherlock to open the street door, his eyesight clouded by the darkness and his brain clouded in his inebriation. John giggles at his side the entire time, and once they finally begin their journey up the stairs, they’re leaning heavily on each other, stifling laughs.

Eventually they make it into the flat-without waking its other occupants-and they flop down, side by side on Sherlock’s bed. They both wiggle out of unnecessary clothing and fall asleep quickly.

Their holiday flies by and before they know it, they’re boarding a plane to Chicago. It’s July, and both boys need to gather and buy the necessities for their dorm rooms. They come home to significant amounts of mail from their respective universities, about dorm living and roommates and finalized schedules and all manner of things. 

John sets about emailing his roommate first thing when they get home. His roommate is sophomore named Ryan McAllister from Terre Haut, Indiana.

###

To: rmcallister417@gmail.com  
From: jhwatson@yahoo.com  
Subject: Hello roommate!

Ryan,

I’m John, your roommate for the year. First off, you can email me any time and if you want to talk or text me, I'll gladly give you my number. Secondly, I thought I would tell you a bit about myself to give you a heads up on what you'll be dealing with! :)

I’m a pre-med major, so I expect to be fairly busy. I live in Oregon, IL, but I’m originally from London. And yes, I do have the accent, I’ve only been in the States for 5 years. I played soccer in high school and I went to community college for a year to get my gen eds done with. I like James Bond films and Doctor Who. I have a boyfriend who starts at Northwestern this fall, though I don’t expect you'll see a lot of him, as he’s not very keen on new people and he'll be a bit busy himself, because the bloody genius is double majoring in Criminal Justice and Chemistry. And before you ask, I’m not gay. I do like women and sports and drinking beer. He’s just one big exception in my life. I promise not to be sappy about him. He'd probably kill me if I was.

I'm sorry I didn’t email you sooner, apparently the letters been sitting in my kitchen for about a week now, but I’ve just gotten home from France and I just opened it.

I can’t wait to meet you. It’s just a few short weeks now!

John

###

Sherlock lets John open the frighteningly large envelope that holds Sherlock’s roommate assignment nearly a week after they get home. John has to shuffle through papers about freshman orientation and lists of things to bring before he finds the paper that lists Sherlock’s roommate.

James Kaczmarek, of Park Ridge, Illinois. Quite obviously of Polish heritage, but most likely not a first, second, or even third generation US citizen. Comes from money, if his family lives in Park Ridge, one of the more expensive, white-collar suburbs of Chicago, but still close to their Polish roots since it has a large Polish population. So he's obviously smart enough to get into Northwestern and has enough money to be put through the expensive private school. Sherlock breathes a small sigh of relief and pulls the page from Johns grasp and boots up his laptop. John comes to sit next him on Sherlock’s bed and kisses his cheek lightly. Sherlock pulls up his email and starts composing a message.

###

To: james_kaczmarek@gmail.com  
From: ssholmes@gmail.com  
Subject: Roommates

James,

My name is Sherlock Holmes and it appears we will be roommates this fall. We have just a few weeks before classes start and I have been urged to contact you before then.

I live in Oregon, Illinois with my uncle and his partner. I’m from London, and that’s where my parents live. I was sent to live with my uncle two years ago after I got arrested in London, and stayed permanently when I decided I liked living in Oregon better than London. 

I’m double majoring in Criminal Justice and Chemistry. I play the violin when I’m thinking and sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. I smoke, but I won’t smoke in our dorm room. My uncle gets irritated when I smoke in the house, so I’m used to going outdoors in all sorts of weather. I have a boyfriend who will more likely than not be around a fair bit. He’s a Pre-Med major at the University of Chicago and his name is John.

I look forward to meeting you soon.

Sherlock Holmes

###

The couple, along with Warren and Mrs. Watson, take several trips into Dixon over the next month to buy everything for school. Sherlock is entirely uninterested in all of it, but keeps quiet for most of the trips.

Both boys keep up steady correspondence with their roommates over the next few weeks, and Sherlock even sets up a date to meet with James in Aurora at Fox Valley Mall for the day. James encourages Sherlock to bring John along, telling Sherlock he fully plans to bring his girlfriend Finley.

2 weeks before they’re set to move it, the couple get up and drive into Aurora. Sherlock wears his normal button down and tailored jeans combination, with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. John’s necklace lays around his neck and his hair is so long that he pulls it back into a ponytail. John opts to wear a grey Oregon Hawks soccer shirt and some black and white plaid shorts and his ratty converse trainers.

Sherlock drives, because it’s mostly highway driving and John hates driving on highways. Its takes about an hour and a half to get there and find the right section of parking lot to park in. They have plans to meet James and Finley outside the mall, by the JC Penney’s, because it’s one of the anchor stores. It doesn’t take long to find a parking spot, as early as it is, and they walk up to the building. 

James and Finley are standing on the pavement just outside the door. James is tall and pale, with dark hair that falls in messy waves around his face. A pair of glasses are perched on his nose and he’s wearing a black argyle sweater vest over a crisp white polo and a pair of black shorts. There are black converse trainers on his feet, scuffed and faded from regular wear. Finley is mid-height and thin. Her bright red and black hair is cut short and sweeps over her forehead. She’s wearing a red Starfleet uniform t-shirt and a pair of men’s black cargo shorts and a pair of red converse trainers.

Sherlock approaches James, smiles while he shakes his hand and introduces himself and John. James introduces Finley and the four head inside.

Sherlock is pleasantly surprised by how bright James is. He’s going to be a biochemical engineering major, so Sherlock knew he was smart, but did not know just how bright and quick the other boy would be. They end up wandering after John and Finley, too deep in discussion to fully notice what their significant others were doing. John and Finley pop into different shops and talk while they look at things they have no intention of buying. John learns that Finley is a year older than himself and is a Pre-law major at the University of Chicago. They complain about their "proper genius" boyfriends and talk pop culture and England and all sorts of things.

At lunch, they all head downstairs into the food court. They pick a section of tables to meet at and split up to buy their lunches from various food vendors. Sherlock returns first, so he picks a table and sits down. The others gather around him.

"So, may I ask what you got arrested for in London?" James asks, unwrapping his burger.

Sherlock dumps his fried rice into his kung pao chicken and fiddles with the food for a moment. John grabs his hand under the table and squeezes it reassuringly.

"I had a bit of a drug habit when I lived in London."

John snorts at him.

"That’s not what Mycroft told me."

"John, please."

John purses his lips and turns his attention back to the burrito in front of him.

"Cocaine was usually my drug of choice, but speedball and heroine made regular appearances as well."

"So you got picked up for drugs?" James prompts when Sherlock’s pause stretches out far longer than necessary.

"Sort of. I managed to stumble upon a crime scene and proceeded to examine and solve the crime. But I contaminated the crime scene and pissed off more than a few police officers and detectives. They had me in handcuffs before they noticed how strung out I was. My father works in the government and managed to get me out of the charges, but I landed myself in rehab for three months and what I thought was a one way ticket to Hell." Sherlock glances around at the people surrounding them, and John recognizes that face. It’s the one that means he’s silently deducing everyone around them, and if he doesn’t stop soon, he'll go into hysterics from overstimulation. John can see it bubbling up behind his eyes, so he grabs both sides of the younger boys face and forces him to look down at him. His eyes are wide and a bit watery and his face is tight around his lips and eyes.

"Sherlock, hey, love, focus on me, ok? Just look at me and focus." Sherlock stares for a long while before closing his eyes and leaning forward to bury his face in John’s neck. He takes one long shuddering breath in and releases it in one long, controlled sigh.

"Did I hit a nerve?" James ask nervously, guilt on his face. John shakes his head and turns to face James, with Sherlock still leaned into him.

"He’s an actual, proper genius, I’m sure you noticed. But he does this thing. He observes and from his observations, he makes deductions. He can read someone’s whole life story just from looking at them. And a lot of the time, if he’s out in a crowd, he can’t help it. And he tries to deduce everyone and it overstimulates him."

Sherlock regained his composure, adjusting the scope of his focus and started picking at his chicken. Everyone went back to eating and chatting amiably for the duration of their meal. Afterwards, when they resume their wanderings of the mall, James falls in beside John and Sherlock and Finley lead them, chatting and debating all manner of subjects.

"So what’s he like, really?" James asks when Sherlock and Finley are a ways in front of them.

"Honestly? He’s insufferable. He seems to like you, so it might not be too bad, but really, he can be an utter child at times. He'll refuse to eat and he'll keep you up at night with the violin playing. You might leave and come back hours later to find him in the same spot. If he’s bored, you won’t see much of him, because he'll probably be out smoking and bothering poor, innocent people. Usually girls, because he can make them cry and that amuses him to no end. He made our AP Bio teacher cry so hard, she left in the middle of class and didn’t come back for a week. But if you can get under his skin, he opens up a bit and he really just wants to be a normal teenager under it all."

"Yeesh. Any advice you can give me?"

"Don’t repeat him. But if he asks you a direct question, answer it. Try not to have too many people in the dorm at a time. No matter how warm it is, he'll complain he’s cold. Just tell him to put a coat on. Don’t let him rile you up, that’ll just prolong the unpleasantness. Invest in earplugs. If he’s sleeping, he snores. If he’s not sleeping, he’s playing the violin. If you notice he’s not eating cuz he’s working on something, grab something, we'll send him with food, and leave it next to him. He'll eat it unconsciously. Do not, under any circumstances, mention the scars on his back. We had been dating about 6 months when he took his shirt off in front of me for the first time and it was specifically to show them to me. They damn near cover his entire back, from shoulders to hips. It’s a bit of a sore point for him. Try not to talk about the solar system too much. Sorry, that one’s my fault. He gets really irritated about it. Go ahead and tease him, but don’t push it, Holmes revenge is terrifying. I pissed off his brother last summer when we stayed with his family and I woke up hog-tied, in nothing but my boxers, in an abandoned warehouse."

"Jesus Christ! He’s going to kill me in my sleep, isn’t he?"

John chuckles and shakes his head.

"Just be patient with him and don’t be condescending, you'll be ok. I promise. And I’ll come round as often as I can."

James shakes his head in disbelief.

"He seems so interesting and chill, I don’t see how he could be as terrible as you make him out to be."

"That’s at his worst. Which you might see, because I won’t always be there and all of our friends are spread out across the country right now for school. He's going to be surrounded by all new people, so he'll be irritable. Don’t take it personally."

James stares down at him with a soft smile and claps him on the shoulder.

"You’re really madly in love with him aren’t you?"

John watches Sherlock, walking a few paces ahead of him, gesticulating wildly as he talk to Finley. He smiles, and drops his gaze to the ring on his hand.

"Yeah, I really am. Because when his mood is good, he’s wonderful. He caring and supportive and proud and protective, not just of me, but all of our friends. And he likes you, so you have a good chance of ending up being one of a handful of friends he has."

They continue their wanderings for a few hours, and shortly before dinner, they go their separate ways. Sherlock and John stop at a drive-thru and eat takeaway in the car on their way home. It’s shortly after 8 when they get home. John stays at Warrens for the night, curled up in Sherlock’s bed while Sherlock spends the night awake, restless.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? An update? I'm so sorry guys. I've been working on this, but I've been so busy with school that I haven't posted any of it.

                Sherlock moves in the week before John does.  John drives up with Sherlock and Warren and Nicholas follow.  Mycroft is meant to meet them at his dorm in Shepard Hall after they check in.  The check in procedure ends up being fairly easy and they make it to his residence hall early in the day, beating out much of the traffic.

                Mycroft is standing in the halls parking lot waiting for them.  He opts to stay behind and watch the cars while the other four lug all of Sherlock’s things up to the second floor.

                They reorganize the room, per Sherlock’s request and unpack everything in short order.  Mycroft takes Sherlock down to the business office to sort out the final loose ends financially.  Nicholas, Warren, and John finish unpacking the last box, the one that has his sheets and duvet and the like.  Sherlock comes back just as they finish smoothing out the covers on his bed, walking along side James, Mycroft and James’ father following along behind the boys.  Both Kaczmareks are carrying large plastic tubs.

                Sherlock introduces everyone, and they leave the dorm to get out of James’ way.  The five go sit out on the patio next to the building and talk.  They discuss Mycroft’s relationship, they talk about his career ambitions, they debate Sherlock’s career options.  It’s easy conversation that makes the time fly by.  At 6, Sherlock says his goodbyes and heads inside for a housing meeting.  The others head home.  Nicholas drives while Warren sits teary-eyed in the passenger seat.

                John moves into his dorm the following weekend.  Sherlock makes the drives up to help and to meet John’s roommate.  Ryan is a tall, weedy boy with a shock of red hair on his head and a smattering of freckles across his nose.

                John and Sherlock fall into a new routine, but things are easy.  John drives up to see Sherlock nearly every weekend, unless he needs access to the library for his research.  James doesn’t mind, and Finley carpools with John most weekends.  They see each other a fair bit, because they live in the same dorm, just down the hall from each other.

                James is ragged and run down the first few weekends John visits, between his heavy course load and Sherlock’s tantrums.  John and Finley do their best to console him, and eventually, Sherlock eases up and they fall in well together.

                Things seem to be going well.  That is, until midterms roll around, and John starts getting so busy he drives up to Northwester less and less.  Sherlock’s texts start getting unbearably guilting and he starts getting texts from James about how bad it is.  But John can’t possibly waste time away from the library.

                But then he gets the call.  He’s in his dorm for the night, writing and revising like crazy, when his mobile rings.  He’s rather surprised when he glances at the caller ID and sees that it’s James.

                “Hello?” he answers.

                “J-john, you n-need to drive up here.”  James’ voice is shaking heavily.  It sounds like he’s crying.

                “Why?  James, what’s wrong?”

                “It’s Sh-sherlock.”

                John jolts, lunging forward off his bed to pull on his trainers.

                “What’s wrong with Sherlock, James?”  John demands, searching frantically for his keys and his ID.

                “The-they’re carting him off t-to the ho-ospital.  H-he overdosed.”

                John freezes.  He dimly hears James calling to him and it takes him a second to respond.

                “Go with him.  Please.  What hospital are they taking him to?”

                “O-ok.  Northwestern Memorial.”

                John hangs up and sprints down the hall to knock on Finley’s door.  She answers, takes one look at him and grabs her shoes and keys and comes rushing out the door.

                Finley doesn’t even try to put her shoes on until they’re both in the car and speeding down the freeway.  John fills her in on what happened.  All she does is place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

                They make the 30 minute drive in just over 20 and are rushing into the emergency room in less than a half hour after James called John.  They find James, sitting in one corner of the waiting room, wrapped in a bright orange blanket, talking to a police officer and a nurse.

                “If it was any sort of illegal drug, I don’t know where he got it.  I do know he has a prescription pain killer for his headaches, though.”

                Finley edges around the nurse to sit next to James and rub his back reassuringly.  John, on the other hand, skirts the cop and crouches down in front of the shaking teenager.

                “Hey, are you ok?” he murmurs, grabbing James’ upper arms and squeezing gently.  James nods, still trembling.

                “Excuse me, sir,” the cop interrupts.  “May I ask what your relation to Mr. Kaczmarek is?”

                John tilts his head back to look up at the man.  “James is my friend Finley’s boyfriend,” he says, nodding towards Finley.  “He’s also the roommate of my boyfriend, whom I currently have zero information about regarding his wellbeing, and James is the one who found him, so forgive me if I’m a tad bit unconcerned about my manners right now.”

                The cop nods and takes a step back, and John turns back to James.  He rocks forward onto his knees and grips the boy by his shoulders, pressing their foreheads together.

                “You did good, kid.  I’m proud of you,” he murmurs in a low tone, what Sherlock always called his ‘doctor voice.’  “Thank you.  I’m sorry I haven’t been around.”

                James’ arms come up from where they’re clenched in his lap and wraps John in a tight hug.  John returns the hug, holding the thin boy, before pressing a kiss to his dark hair and pulling away to stand.  The cop comes forward again, and John turns to the nurse.

                “How bad is he?”

                “I can’t tell you much, since his guardian isn’t here, and I don’t know much myself, but he should be alright in the end.”

                John nods and turns, pulling out his phone.  He has 27 missed calls, all from Nicholas and Warren.  He calls Warren and the phone picks up after one ring.

                “Hey.  I’m at the hospital already, but they haven’t let us in to see him.  We can’t until he’s stable and you’re here.”

                “We’re maybe 45 minutes out.  Are you alright?”

                “I’ll be fine as soon as I can see him.”

                “We’ll be there as soon as possible.”

\---

                It’s just short of 45 minutes when Warren and Nicholas show up.  Less than 5 minutes later, they’re given the go ahead to see Sherlock.  Nicholas opts to stay in the waiting room with James and Finley so Sherlock isn’t overwhelmed by people.

                Sherlock is awake, barely so, when Warren and John enter the room.  John rounds the bed to sit on Sherlock’s right and immediately grabs for the boy’s hand.

                “John,” he mutters, muffled by the oxygen mask.  “M’sorry.”

                “It’s alright, love,” John murmurs, brushing a lank curl from the boy’s face.  “You’re alright now.”

                A doctor entered the room with a soft knock on the door.

                “Ah.  Hello.  You must be Mr. Holmes’ guardian then?”

                “Yes, I’m his uncle.  My name’s Warren.”

                “I’m Dr. Johnston.  Your nephew’s going to be just fine in a day or two.  Sherlock and I have had a long talk about properly using prescription pain killers, haven’t we, Sherlock?”

                Sherlock nods his head wearily, avoiding the doctor’s gaze.

                “He accidentally took too many of the pills he’s prescribed because he was impatient and didn’t think they were working, so he kept taking more.”

                Both John and Warren turn disappointed gazes to Sherlock, who flushes and ducks his head.

                “But thanks to that young man in the waiting room, we got him here before any irreparable damage was done.”

                John hears Warrant talking softly to the doctor, but he ignores it in favor of toeing off his shoes and stretching out next to Sherlock.  The boy immediately relaxes into John’s side with a sigh.  He pulls the oxygen mask off his face to turn and kiss John’s forehead and murmur another apology.

                “Just tell me it actually _was_ an accident and you’re forgiven.”

                “I promise you it was an accident.  My migraines have been getting worse, so I was taking more pills to fight them off and I guess I found my limit.”

                “I’m sorry, Sherlock.  I haven’t exactly kept up my promise to be around for you.”

                “I understand.  You’re busy.  These next couple years are going to be tough.  I’ve accepted that.”

                “They shouldn’t have to be tough.  That was the whole reason you came back to the States.”

                When he’s ready, Nicholas, James, and Finley all come in to see him.  John sits up to make room for James to lean in and hug Sherlock tight.  Sherlock, surprisingly, tugs the boy in tighter and kisses the top of this head, murmuring his thanks and apologies.  Afterwards, he pulls the oxygen mask back over his face and takes a few deep, steadying breaths.  Finley doesn’t say anything, just clasps his hand for a second and turns back to comfort James.  Nicholas kisses his forehead and makes sure he knows how worried he and Warren were and Sherlock has the decency to look sorry.

                Afterwards, John climbs back into the bed with Sherlock and pulls the younger boy in close.  It’s so reminiscent of the last time Sherlock was hospitalized that Warren whimpers softly and Nicholas gathers him up and out into the hall before he starts crying.

                Sherlock starts to tremble from the stress.  John strokes his hair and murmurs quietly in his ear.  They he gestures for James and tells the boy to lay on Sherlock’s other side.  He does, wrapping his arms tight around the other boy’s waist and John follows suit.  Sherlock buries his face in the crook of John’s neck, and John can feel the warm plastic of the oxygen mask and the cool wetness of Sherlock’s silent tears, and he melts.  He whispers his love and praise and affection to him.  Finley steps forward and pulls a blanket up over them and sits down on James’ side.  James rests his forehead against Sherlock’s spine and Finley strokes James’ hair.

                Sherlock falls asleep shortly after and James untangles himself from the bed.  Warren and Nicholas return when Warren regains his composure.  Nicholas gives Finley and James a ride back to their respective dorms, leaving the boys and Warren alone.  Warren sits on John’s side of the bed and leans down to kiss his temple.

                “You’re going to be a brilliant doctor, love,” he murmurs.  “Sherlock is so lucky to have you in his life.  He needs you.”

                John doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything.  In the end, he falls asleep curled up on the hospital bed with Sherlock in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic that I've been working on for a while and it's up on FF.net at the moment. Still a WIP, though, and I think I've got a ways to go before this is done so. After I catch up with the 8 chapters that are posted on FF.net, it might be a little while before the next update.


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